DEPARTMENT  OF 


IjIB»a3e«.y  o:f 


1 


B..^.l C...3i^ 

«>*• 

University  of  Illinois. 


Books 


Latest  Date  stamped  below.  A 
charge  is  made  on  all  overdue 
books. 


University  of  Illinois  Library 


1 

? 


DEPARTMENT  OF 

3Z\ C...3i^ 

o*- 

University  of  Illinois. 

Books 

^s^ssff:^^a^^!^!s^^siBas^!^ps^silSsOs^tssOsA 


/i 


library 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/poeticalworksoftOOchat 


THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 

OF 

THOMAS  CHATTERTON 


WITH  A MEMOIR 


BOSTON: 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
QLbt  EmerBiiie  PrcBct,  C-arabriJiffe 


STORAM 


Copyright,  1855, 

By  little,  brown  & CO 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


Ii«  1803,  the  Works  of  Chatterton  were  col- 
lected hj  Southey  and  Cottle,  and  published  in 
tliree  handsome  octavos.  We  are  not  aware  that 
they  were  again  printed  in  a form  requiring  notice 
until  1842,  when  the  well-known  edition  in  two 
volumes,  (published  anonymously,  but  the  v/ork, 
we  are  informed,  of  Charles  Wilcox,)  appeared  at 
Cambridge,  England.  From  this  laboriously 
executed  edition  nearly  everything  in  the  present 
has  been  derived.  There  are,  however,  differ- 
ences in  the  arrangement,  and  some  omissions. 
We  trust  that  we  have  acted  discreetly  in  reject- 
ing many  of  the  variorum  notes  with  which  the 
Cambridge  editor  has  overloaded  his  pages,  and 
that  the  Glossary  (taken  from  the  edition  of 
1803)  will  be  found  an  ample  substitute  for  the 
very  numerous  marginal  explanations  by  which 
the  artificial  dialect  of  the  Rowley  Poems  has 
hitherto  been  illustrated.  The  Biographical  Me- 
moir has  also  undergone  a slight  pruning,  and 


ii  ADVERTISEMENT. 

four  or  five  pages  have  been  dropped  at  the  end. 
Notwithstanding  some  defects  of  taste  and  judg- 
ment, it  will  be  found  highly  valuable  for  its  com- 
pleteness, and  interesting  from  the  earnestness 
with  which  it  is  written. 

By  the  kindness  of  J.  R.  Dix,  Esq.,  we  have 
been  furnished  with  a copy  of  some  farewell 
verses,  never  before  printed,  which  were  found  in 
Chatterton’s  pocket-book  after  his  death.  They 
are  given  in  a note  towards  the  end  of  the 
Memoir. 

July,  1856. 


CONTENTS 


VOL.  I. 

ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 

Slyl>.3k 4 

A Hymn  for  Christmas  Day 6 

Apostate  Will 8 

Narva  and  Mored 11 

The  Death  of  Nicou 15 

February 20 

A New  Song 23 

Heccar  and  Gaira 7 25 

The  Methodist 29 

Colin  instructed 30 

Kew  Gardens 31 

The  Advice 71 

The  Copernican  System 74 

The  Consuliad 76 

Elegy 1 86 

The  Prophecy 87 

A Song 92 

To  a Friend 94 

To  the  beauteous  Miss  Hoyland 95 

To  Miss  Hoyland 96 

Ode  to  Miss  Hoyland 97 

Acrostic  on  Miss  Hoyland 98 

to  Miss  Hoyland 98 


IV 


CONTENTS, 


Page 

Acrostic  01.  Miss  Clarke  100 

To  Miss  Hoylaiid 101 

The  same 102 

The  same 104 

The  same 105 

The  same 106 

To  Miss  Clarke. 107 

Epistle  to  Rev.  Mr.  Catcott 108 

Sennment 118 

The  Defence 119 

A Burlesque  Cantata 122 

Song 123 

Happiness 124 

The  Whore  of  Babylon 130 

Elegy 152 

To  a Friend 154 

On  Thomas  Phillips’s  Death 156 

Fables  for  the  Court 157 

Phagment 160 

Elegy  written  at  Stanton-Drew 162 

The  Romance  of  the  Knight 164 

Sunday — a Fragment 166 

The  Revenge 169 

The  Woman  of  Spirit 203 

Resignation 208 

Journal 237 

Elegy 253 

Clifton 255 

The  Art  of  Puffing 260 

Verses 262 

To  Mr.  Holland 265 

An  Elegy  on  Beckford 266 

Elegy 273 

On  Mr.  Alcock,  of  Bristol 275 

To  Miss  Bush,  of  Bristol 277 

Fragment 279 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Mr.  Phillips 282 

Translations  of  Horace 290 


CONTENTS. 


V 


Page 

Elegy  on  Mr.  W.  Smith r. 294 

The  Happy  Pair. 295 

Songs 297 

The  Invitation 298 

A Bacchanalian 299 

The  Virgin’s  Choice 300 

To  Mrs.  Hey  wood,  the  Novelist 301 

To  Miss  C 303 

To  Mr.  Powel 303 

The  Resignation 304 

Chatterton’s  Will 807 

Letters 819 


VOL.  II. 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


^ Page 

Epistle  to  Mastre  Canynge 27 

Letter  to  the  dygne  Mastre  Canynge 31 

Kntroductionne 35 

iElla.. 86 

Prologue,  made  bie  Maistre  William  Canynge . 126 

Goddwyn 126 

Englysh  Metamorphosis 141 

^An  Excelente  Balade  of  Charitie 148 

To  Johne  Ladgate 156 

Songe  to  .£lla 156 

Lines  composed  by  John  Ladgate,  a Priest  in  London, 
and  sent  to  Rowlie  as  an  Answer  to  the  preceding 

Songe  of  i£lla 159 

i^'^he  Tournament 163 

><^Battle  of  Hastings,  (No.  1).. 179 

^ “ « « (No.  2) 207 

The  Romaunte  of  the  Cnyghte 24^ 


VI 


CONTE^jTS. 


Page 

Eclogues 248 

Elinoure  and  Juga 262 

The  Storie  of  William  Canynge 266 

Onn  oure  Ladies  Chyrche 279 

On  the  same 280 

On  the  Dedication  of  our  Ladie’s  Church 282 

Fragment,  by  John,  second  Abbatte  of  Seyncte  Aus- 

tyn’s  Mynsterre * 284 

The  Parlyamente  of  Sprytes 286 

On  the  Mynster 301 

The  Worlde 303 

The  Unknown  Knight,  or  the  Tournament 307 

The  Freere  of  Orderys  Whyte 313 

Dialogue 315 

The  Merrie  Tricks  of  Lamyngetowne 320 

^Songeof  Seyncte  Baldywynne 326 

-^Songe  of  Seyncte  Warburghe 326 

Sancte  Warbur 328 

Warre 330 

A Chronycalle  of  Brystowe 332 

On  Happienesse 334 

The  Gouler’s  Requiem 335 

Heraudyn 337 

Epitaph  on  Robert  Canynge 338 

Onn  John  a Dalbenie 338 

The  Accounte  of  W.  Canynge’s  Feast 339 

Appendix  to  the  Rowley  Poems 341 

Prose  Miscellanies 348 

Glossary 369 


THE  LIFE 

or 

THOMAS  CHATTER  TON. 


“ To  wryte  of  a Mannes  Lyfe  mote  bee  enowe  to  saie  of 
Bomme  he  was  ybore  and  deceased;  odher  somme  lacketh 
recytalle,  as  manie  notable  matteres  bee  contained  in  yer 
storie.”  9f  CanynyCy  hit  Rowley, 


I. 

His  Birth — Parentage — Education, 

Thomas  Chatterton,i  whose  life  we  are  about  to 
record,  was  born  at  Bristol  on  the  20th  of  November, 
1 752.  He  was  of  humble  origin.  His  father  in  the 
early  part  of  his  life  is  said  to  have  filled  the  office  of 


t The  materials  for  this  biography  are  derived  ft'om  Deal? 
Milles’s  Preliminary  Dissertation  to  Rowley’s  Poems;  Dr 
Greogry’s  Life  of  Chatterton;  Bryant’s  Observations;  Sir 
Herbert  Croft's  Love  and  Madness;  Warton’s  Enquiry  into 
the  Authenticity  of  the  Poems  attributed  to  Rowley,  and  the 
eighth  section  of  his  History  of  English  Poetry;  Malone’s 
Cursory  Observations;  Barrett’s  History  of  Bristol;  Life  of 
Chatterton,  by  Chalmers;  Edition  of  his  Works,  by  Southey 
and  Cottle;  Britton’s  History  of  RedclifTe  Church;  Camp 
bell’s  Specimens  of  the  British  Poets;  Chatterton’s  Life,  by 
Hix;  Cottle’s  Early  Recollections  of  Coleridge,  and  miscel- 
laneous articles  in  various  Magazines  and  Reviews. — Ei>. 


LIFE  OP  CHATTERTON. 


viii 

writlng-uslier  to  a classical  school.  He  was  afterwards 
appointed  one  of  the  choir  in  the  Cathedral  of  Bris- 
tol, and  subsequently  became  the  master  of  the  Free- 
school,  situated  in  Pyle-street,  in  the  same  city,  which 
latter  situations  he  continued  to  hold  conjointly  till 
the  time  of  his  death,  which  took  place  in  August, 
1752,  three  months  before  the  birth  of  his  son,  who 
was  thus  ushered,  a posthumous  child,  into  the  world. 
This  parent,  if  we  may  credit  the  statements  and  au- 
thorities of  the  poet's  last  biographer,  was  scarcely 
competent  to  have  supplied  the  careful  attention  and 
control  for  which  Dr.  Gregory — on  the  boy's  part — 
deplores  his  premature  loss.t  That  he  was  clever  and 
fond  of  study,  there  is  evidence  to  prove.  He  believed, 
moreover,  in  magic,  and  was  deeply  read  in  Cornelius 
Agrippa. 

Of  the  mother  of  Chatterton  little  is  known  pre- 
vious to  her  husband's  death.  She  appears  to  have 
been  a plain,  worthy  woman  ; of  gentle,  though  some 

1 That  he  ( Chatterton’s  father)  was  a man  of  some  talent 
and  shrewdness,  is  evident  from  the  various  testimonials  of 
those  who  knew  him  well ; but  he  was  inclined  to  dissipated 
habits,  and  was  of  a “brutal  disposition.”  The  house  in 
which  he  lived  had  only  two  sitting-rooms,  and  he  often 
passed  the  whole  night  roaring  out  catches  in  one  of  them, 
with  some  of  the  lowest  rabble  of  the  parish.  His  wife  he 
always  treated  with  the  greatest  indifference,  and  once,  on 
being  asked  why  he  married  her,  he  coolly  replied,  “ solely  for 
a housekeeper. That  he  was  not  likely  to  experience  much 
“ careful  attention  ” from  his  father  may  be  inferred  from  the 
tact  of  the  ill-usage  Mrs.  Chatterton  received  from  him;  and 
few  will  doubt,  that,  as  the  wife  was  treated  with  harshness 
•ind  neglect,  the  son  would  have  experienced  similar  treat- 
ment.— Dix’s  Life  of  Chatterton. — (1837.) 


LIB^E  OF  CIIATTERTON. 


IX 


what  melancholy  disposition, — of  mild  and  amiable 
qualities,  and  possessing  withal  a most  devoted  attach- 
ment to  her  children,  of  which  Thomas,  the  subject  of 
this  memoir,  was  the  second, — the  eldest,  a girl,  being 
at  the  time  of  his  birth  apparently  some  years  old. 
In  order  to  support  her  family,  now  relying  entirely  on 
her  own  exertions,  she  opened  a day-school,  and  ad- 
vertised herself  as  a milliner  or  sempstress — a resource 
which  the  attention  of  her  neighbours,  who  very  greatly 
esteemed  her,  appears  to  have  rendered  valuable,  both 
by  their  patronage. and  assistance. 

The  infancy  of  Chatterton  is  distinguished  by  little 
that  Is  worthy  of  record.  At  the  age  of  five  years,  he 
was  sent  to  the  school  in  Pyle-street,  formerly  under 
the  superintendence  of  his  father,  and  then  kept  by  a 
Mr.  Love.  Here,  however,  he  exhibited  no  symptoms 
of  that  precocious  genius  which,  ere  long,  was  to 
“ make  grey-headed  erudition  bend  before  it.”  On  the 
contrary,  he  was  remarkably  dull  and  stupid,  receiving 
into  his  apparently  obtuse  skull  no  portion  of  the  lumi- 
nous instruction  which  the  pedagogue  of  a free-school 
could  be  supposed  to  impart. 

Indeed,  it  seemed  pretty  plain  that  the  young  Chatr 
terton  was  about  to  turn  out  an  incorrigible  dunce. 
The  most  ordinary  attainments  acquired  by  the  gener- 
ality of  children  while  yet  in  the  nurse’s  arms, — the 
commonest  rudiments  of  knowledge, — the  very  letters 
of  the  alphabet,  though  insinuated  by  no  harsh  master, 
but  by  the  care  of  a fond  and  anxious  mother,  seemed 
to  baffle  every  attempt  made  to  penetrate  the  hopeless 
stupidity  which  there  was  reason  to  apprehend  he 
would  always  exhibit.  This  circumstance  appears  to 
tdve  caused  his  poor  parent,  to  whom  he  was  sent 


X 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


back  on  the  score  of  incapacity,  a great  deal  of  un- 
easiness ; and  we  are  told  by  a neighbour,  that  “ until 
he  was  six  years  and  a half  old,  she  thought  him  to  be 
an  absolute  fool,  and  often  when  correcting  him,  told 
him  so.” 

But  a change  was  soon  to  be  displayed.  There 
chanced  to  be  in  her  possession  an  old  musical  manu- 
script, in  French,  and  adorned  with  illuminated  capi- 
tals. It  arrested  the  child’s  attention : to  use  his 
mother’s  words,  he  “/e/Z  in  love  ” with  it.l  He  began 
to  read.  An  ancient  black-letter  Bible,  which  she 
brought  to  her  assistance,  completed  the  attraction. 
Thomas  Chatterton  was  no  more  a dunce. 

His  mental  cultivation  now  commenced  in  earnest. 
He  read  with  the  utmost  avidity.  He  stormed  the 
bookshelves  of  all  his  acquaintance.  He  devoured, 
not  volumes,  but  libraries.  “At  seven,”  says  the  same 
neighbour,  who  was  much  in  the  house,  “ he  visibly 
improved : at  eight  years  of  age  he  was  so  eager  for 
books,  that  he  read  from  the  moment  he  waked,  which 
was  early,  until  he  went  to  bed,  if  they  would  let  him.” 

1 He  was  taught  to  read  from  an  old  black-letter  Testa- 
ment, or  Bible.  Perhaps  the  bent  of  most  men’s  studies  may, 
in  some  measure,  be  determined  by  accident,  and  frequently 
in  very  early  life;  nor  is  it  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  his 
peculiar  attachment  to  antiquities  may,  in  a considerable 
\legree,  have  resulted  from  this  little  circumstance. — Dr. 
Gregory. 

One  of  his  biographers  [Chalmers]  has  expressed  surprise 
that  a person  in  his  mother’s  rank  of  life  should  have  been 
acquainted  with  black-letter.  The  writer  might  have  known 
that  books  of  the  ancient  type  continued  to  be  read  in  that 
rank  of  life  long  after  they  had  ceased  to  be  used  by  persons 
pf  a higher  station. — CAMPBELii 


LIFE  OF  CIIATTERTON. 


XI 


And  the  dreams  of  ambition  were  already  commenced. 
A manufacturer  promised  to  make  the  children  a present 
of  some  earthenware — a cup  or  plaything  that  might 
gratify  a child  : he  asked  the  boy  what  device  should 
be  inscribed  on  his.  “ Paint  me,”  replied  the  future 
creator  of  Kowley — “ Paint  me  an  angel,  with  wings 
and  a trumpet,  to  trumpet  my  name  over  the  world** 
This  anecdote  rests  upon  credible  authority — that  of 
his  sister. 

“ My  brother,”  writes  the  same  relation,  in  her  ex- 
pressive letter  to  Sir  Herbert  Croft,  “ very  early  dis- 
covered a thirst  for  preeminence.  I remember,  before 
he  was  five  years  old  he  would  always  preside  over  his 
playmates  as  their  master,  and  they  his  hired  servants. 
He  was  dull  in  learning,  not  knowing  many  letters  at 
four  years  old,  and  always  objected  to  read  in  a small 
book.  He  learnt  the  alphabet  from  an  old  folio  music- 
book  of  my  father’s,  my  mother  was  then  tearing  up 
for  waste  paper : the  capitals  at  the  beginning  of  the 
verses  I assisted  in  teaching  him.  I recollect  nothing 
remarkable  till  he  went  into  the  school,  which  was  in 
his  eighth  year,  excepting  his  promising  my  mother 
and  me  a deal  of  finery,  when  he  grew  up,  as  a reward 
of  her  care.” 

The  affection  with  which  he  regarded  his  relatives, 
whom  throughout  his  life  he  distinguished  by  every 
token  of  regard,  forms  indeed  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing traits  of  his  character.  Here  it  began  to  manifest 
itself  in  the  promise  of  fine  clothes — of  gauds  and  frip- 
pery— which  no  doubt  his  pen  was  to  procure;  and 
the  child’s  dream  of  greatness  derived  additional 
splendour  from  the  imagined  glories  of  his  bedizened 
jriends. 


£11 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Another  change  became  apparent  in  him.  He 
grew  reserved  and  thoughtful.  He  was  silent  and 
gloomy  for  long  intervals  together,  speaking  to  no  one, 
and  appearing  angry  when  noticed  or  disturbed.  He 
would  break  out  into  sudden  fits  of  weeping,  for  which 
no  reason  could  be  assigned  ; would  shut  himself  up  in 
some  chamber,  and  suffer  no  one  to  approach  him,  nor 
allow  himself  to  be  enticed  from  his  seclusion.  Often 
he  would  go  the  length  of  absenting  himself  from 
home  altogether,  for  the  space,  sometimes,  of  many 
hours ; and  his  sister  remembered  his  being  most  se- 
verely chastised  for  a long  absence  ; at  which  he  did 
not  however  shed  one  tear,  but  merely  said,  “ It  was 
hard  indeed  to  be  whipped  for  reading.” 

Not  unfrequently  a search  was  instituted.  His 
mother’s  house  was  close  to  the  fine  structure  of  8t. 
Mary  Redcliflfe,  and  they  well  knew  that  the  boy’s  fa- 
vourite haunts  were  the  aisles  and  towers  of  that  noble 
pile.  And  there  they  would  find  the  truant,  seated 
generally  by  the  tomb  of  Canynge,  or  lodged  in  one 
of  the  towers,  reading  sometimes,  or — what  if  thus 
early  imagining  Rowley  ? Stealing  away  in  this  man- 
ner, he  would  constantly  awaken  the  solicitude  of  his 
friends,  to  whom  his  little  eccentricities  were  already 
the  source  of  much  uneasiness. 

In  August,  1760,  when  he  had  not  quite  attained 
his  eighth  year,  he  was  admitted  into  the  school  estab- 
lished at  Bristol  for  charitable  purposes,  by  one  Ed- 
ward Colston  in  1708.  This  person,  who  was  a mer- 
chant, and  who  by  excess  of  industry  possessed  himself 
of  almost  unlimited  wealth,  has  recorded  his  benevo- 
lent disposition  in  the  numerous  benefactions  which  he 
Vas  bestowed  on  his  native  city  In  this  institution. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTEUTON. 


XUl 


rvliicli  is  sifiiated  in  a part  of  that  city  called  Si  A.u- 
gustine’s  Back,  one  hundred  boys  are  clothed,  boarded, 
and  educated,  and  in  many  instances  apprenticed  at  a 
suitable  age  to  some  creditable  trade  or  profession. 
The  rules  are  very  strict ; the  hours  in  summer  are, 
from  seven  o’clock  till  twelve  in  the  morning,  and  from 
one  to  five  in  the  afternoon ; in  winter  they  assemble 
from  eight  till  twelve,  and  from  one  to  four.  Through- 
out the  year  they  are  obliged  to  be  in  bed  by  eight 
o’clock,  and  are  never  permitted  to  be  absent  from 
school,  except  on  Saturdays  and  Saints’-days,  and  then 
only  from  between  one  and  two  in  the  afternoon,  and 
seven  and  eight  in  the  evening.  Into  this  school,  and 
subject  to  these  regulations,  was  Chatterton  admitted, 
at  a time  when  his  faculties  were  ripe  for  cultivation, 
his  ambition  eager  for  enterprise,  his  soul  expanding 
with  desire  for  renown. 

After  all,  however,  it  was  only  a charity-school ; and 
elated  as  he  was  with  the  prospect  of  acquiring  knowl- 
edge, he  soon  manifested  his  disgust.  He  is  said  to 
have  asserted  “ that  he  could  not  learn  so  much  at 
school  as  he  could  at  home,  for  they  had  not  books 
enough  there.”  It  was  but  a kind  of  mercantile, 
ledger  and  day-book  education  the  young  poet  was 
receiving : they  taught  him  nothing  but  reading, 

writing,  and  arithmetic, — made  him  each  day  pursue 
the  round  of  a gin-horse,  while  his  brain  was  labouring 
with  the  conception  of  Rowley,  soon  to  issue  from  that 
teeming  womb.  Who  can  wonder  that  Chatterton  was 
disgusted  ? 

But  he  was  not  so  backward,  even  here ; he  kept 
stirring,  and  made  some  progress,  especially  in  the 
arithmetic  classes,  in  which  the  usher  allowed  him  to 


xiv 


LIFE  OF  CIIATTERTON. 


be  amongst  tbe  foremost.  This  usher  will  be  remem- 
bered with  the  fame  of  Chatterton,  for  he  too — in  his 
way — was  a poet ; and  the  reader  of  Chatterton’s  works 
will  recollect  the  Elegy  on  his  death,  composed  in  later 
years,  but  bearing  adequate  testimony  to  the  warmth 
of  their  mutual  attachment.  He  appears  to  have  been 
an  amiable  and  estimable  man,  and  is  indeed  so  con- 
nected with  the  early  life  of  Chatterton,  and  the  first 
production  of  Rowley,  that  Dr.  Gregory  is  justified  in 
lamenting  the  want  of  a more  perfect  memoir  of  him. 
One  of  his  intimate  acquaintances  shall  tell  us  all  that 
is  known  respecting  him  : — 

“ In  the  summer  of  1763,  being  then  in  the  12th  year  of  my 
age,  I contracted  an  intimacy  with  one  Thomas  Phillips,  who 
•was  some  time  usher  or  assistant  master  of  a hospital  or 
charity-school,  founded  for  the  education  and  maintenance 
of  youth  at  Bristol,  by  Edward  Colston,  Esquire.  Phillips, 
notwithstanding  the  disadvantage  of  a very  confined  educa- 
tion, possessed  a taste  for  history  and  poetry ; of  the  latter, 
the  magazines  and  other  periodicals  of  that  time  furnish  no 
very  contemptible  specimen. 

“ Towards  the  latter  end  of  that  year,  by  means  of  my  in- 
timacy with  Phillips,  I formed  a connection  with  Chatterton, 
who  was  on  the  foundation  of  that  school,  and  about  four- 
teen months  younger  than  myself.  The  poetical  attempts  of 
Phillips  had  excited  a kind  of  literary  emulation  amongst  the 
elder  classes  of  the  scholars;  the  love  of  fame  animated  their 
bosoms,  and  a variety  of  competitors  appeared  to  dispute  the 
laurel  with  him ; their  endeavours,  however,  in  general,  did 
not  meet  with  the  success  which  their  zeal  and  assiduity  de- 
served; and  Phillips  still,  to  the  mortification  of  his  oppo- 
nents, came  off  victorious  and  unhurt. 

“ In  all  these  trifling  contentions,  the  fruits  of  which  are 
aow,  and  have  been  long  since,  deservedly  and  entirely  for- 
gotten, Chatterton  appeared  merely  as  an  idle  spectator,  nc 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


XV 


ways  interested  in  the  business  of  the  drama;  simply  con- 
tenting himself  with  the  sports  and  pastimes  more  immedi- 
ately adapted  to  his  age,  he  apparently  possessed  neither 
inclination,  nor  indeed  ability,  for  literary  pursuits;  nor  do  I 
believe  (notwithstanding  the  evidence  adduced  to  the  con- 
trary by  the  author  of  Love  and  Madness)  that  he  attempted 
the  composition  of  a single  couplet  during  the  first  three 
years  of  my  acquaintance  with  him.”i 

We  shall  presently  find  this  opinion  to  be  incorrect; 
in  the  mean  time,  as,  in  the  writer’s  company,  we  have 
stepped  over  to  the  summer  of  1763,  we  must  look 
back  and  see  how  Chatterton  has  been  employed.  He 
is  reported  to  have  stood  aloof  from  the  society  of  his 
schoolmates — to  have  made  few  acquaintances,  and 
only  amongst  those  whose  dispositions  inclined  them  to 
reflection. 

After  his  admission  into  the  school — two  years  after 
say  some  authorities,  but  hardly  so  long — his  mother 
allowed  him  a trifle  for  pocket-money,  which  found  its 
way  to  the  treasury  of  a bookseller,  who  supplied  him, 
in  return,  with  all  the  literature  his  circulating-shelves 
could  afford.  The  bibliopole  was  liberal,  too,  for  when 
the  pence  were  not  forthcoming,  knowing  the  boy’s 
family,  he  allowed  him  to  select  his  volume,  and  even 
to  make  transcripts  from  new  books.^  His  name  de- 


* Letter  from  Mr.  Thistlethwaite  to  Dean  Milles,  printed 
in  the  Dean’s  Edition  of  Rowley,  and  in  Southey  and  Cottle’s 
Edition  of  Chatterton. 

2 Recorded  on  the  authority  of  W.  H.  Ireland,  the  fabri- 
cator of  the  Shakespeare  MSS.  The  reader  can  refer  to  his 
“ Confessions,”  and  allow  the  passage  what  credit  he  pleases. 
In  this,  as  in  one  or  two  other  incidents  in  the  early  life  of 
Chatterton  obtained  from  the  same  source,  and  i:.serted  in 


VOL.  I. 


B 


XVI 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


servos  to  be  recorded ; he  was  a Mr.  Goodal,  and  he 
kept  his  shop  nearly  opposite  the  Cider  House  Passage, 
in  Broad  Street. 

The  works  thus  procured  were  of  a very  miscella- 
neous  character.  Chatterton  confined  his  studies  to 
no  particular  head.  In  later  life  he  pursued  the  same 
course,  and  amassed  a confused  heap  of  heterogeneous 
knowledge,  which  included  subjects  the  most  abstruse. 
Even  at  this  early  period  he  perused  promiscuously, 
works  on  religion,  history,  biography,  poetry,  heraldry, 
— and  betrayed  a passionate  attachment  for  antiquities. 
To  be  sure,  the  Burgum  pedigree  was  engendering  in 
his  brain — a mere  foetus,  to  be  delivered  in  due  time. 
He  was  not  very  communicative,  this  poet  in  embryo ; 
neither  too  obsequious,  though  incurring  a favour ; he 
merely  bowed  his  head,  as  he  entered  the  shop,  and 
made  a similar  obeisance  on  taking  leave. 

In  fact,  the  pride,  the  reserve,  the  native  and  un- 
conquerable haughtiness  had  already  betrayed  itself 
in  his  young  character.  One  expression — ^that  “ God 
had  sent  his  creatures  into  the  world  with  arms  long 
enough  to  reach  any  thing,  if  they  chose  to  be  at  the 
trouble,”  was  frequently  in  his  mouth.  He  was  in 
arms  for  the  omnipotence  of  the  human  intellect. 
Slight  mistake,  that;  though  he  did  his  share,  and 
something  more : how  many  have  performed  one  thou- 
sandth such  a part  ? 

Soon  after  this  time  he  wrote  a catalogue  of  all  the 

this  biography,  the  author  observes  nothing  of  a suspicious 
nature— even  when  the  character  of  Ireland  is  taken  intc 
•onsideration.  The  name  of  the  bookseller  is  derived  from 
Dix. 


LIFE  OF  CHATIERTON. 


XVI 1 


books  he  had  read  ; the  number  amounted  to  se\'enty, 
— -not  despicable  for  his  contracted  means.  The  sub- 
jects they  embraced  were  chiefly  history  and  divinity, 
all  devoured  and  digested  perhaps — in  a manner,  after 
school-hours,  and  during  the  seasons  allotted  for  recre- 
ation. Bingham,  Young,  and  Stillingfleet  were  among 
them.  No  slender  stock  of  theology  he  was  accumu- 
lating ; but  then — Rowley’s  sermon  was  to  follow. 

It  cannot  be  doubted  that  all  this  time  the  elements 
of  his  great  work  were  arranging  themselves  in  order, 
and  silently  shaping  into  Ella  tragedies  and  Bawdin 
histories.  During  holidays  and  half-holidays,  and  lei- 
sure moments — whenever  he  could  procure  them — ^he 
would  retire  to  a little  room  which  he  called  his  own, 
shutting  himself  in,  and  allowing  no  one  to  bear  him 
company.  Here  he  would  remain  for  hours,  in  no  way 
solicitous  about  external  things.  Of  liis  meals  he  was 
even  oblivious,  letting  the  hour  slip  by,  or  disregarding 
the  often-repeated  summons  ; and  making  his  appear- 
ance at  last  begrimed  with  ochre,  charcoal,  and  black- 
lead. 


n. 

Confirmed  at  ten  years  old  by  the  Bishop — Is  articled 
to  an  Attorney — Commences  the  Rowley  fabric 
lions. 

At  ten  years  old,  Chatterton  was  confirmed ; an  age, 
apparently,  when  the  meaning  of  the  rite,  the  impor- 
tance ascribed  to  it,  or  the  nature  of  the  responsibility, 
«ould  hardly  have  been  understood  by  him.  But  Chat- 


XV  111 


LIFE  OF  CIIATTERTOX. 


terton,  we  repeat,  was  no  common  boy.  Not  only  was 
he  prepared  for  the  occasion,  but  his  sister  adds,  tliat 
he  made  very  “ sensible  and  serious  remarks  on  the 
awfulness  of  the  ceremony,”  and  his  own  feelings  in 
relation  to  it.  This  event  is  assigned  by  all  his  histori- 
ans, whose  authority  indeed  is  the  evidence  of  his  sis- 
ter, to  a period  full  two  years  later.  The  date  com- 
monly ascribed,  however — that  of  his  twelfth  year — 
has  been  sufficiently  invalidated  by  Mr.  Tyson,  to 
authorize  the  present  biographer  in  assigning  it  to  the 
earlier  period.  His  sister,  Mrs.  Newton,  made  refer- 
ence to  the  event  many  years  after  it  had  taken  place, 
when  her  brother  had  been  long  dead,  during  an  in- 
terval of  ill-health,  too,  as  she  acknowledges ; and  no 
considerable  time  before  her  own  disordered  faculties 
rendered  her  a subject  of  painful  attention.  Her  ac- 
count is  as  follows : — 

“At  twelve  years  old,  he  was  confirmed  by  the  Bishop : he 
made  very  sensible,  serious  remarks  on  the  avvfulness  of  the 
ceremony,  and  his  own  feelings  and  convictions  during  it. 
Soon  after  this,  in  the  week  he  was  door-keeper,  he  made 
some  verses  on  the  last  day,  I think  about  eighteen  lines ; 
paraphrased  the  ninth  chapter  of  Job;  and,  not  long  after, 
some  chapters  in  Isaiah.  He  had  been  gloomy  from  the  time 
he  began  to  learn,  but  we  remarked  he  was  more  cheerful 
after  he  began  to  write  poetry.  Some  satirical  pieces  we 
saw  soon  after,*’ i 

Upon  this  Mr.  Tyson  remarks : — 

“Mrs.  Newton’s  communications  in  this  letter  are  evidently 
what  they  profess  to  be,  the  result  of  recollection,  and  on  a 


1 Letter  to  Sir  Herbert  Croft. 


LIFE  OF  CIIATTERTON. 


XIX 


subject,  as  slie  acknowledges,  painful  to  the  writer,  as  well 
as  undertaken  at  a period  of  ill-health.  With  respect  to 
dates,  therefore,  it  is  exceedingly  probable  that  mistakes 
should  occur,  and  especially  where  they  do  not  tend  to 
affect  the  credibility  of  the  ch'cumstances  to  which  they 
relate. 

“ That  Mrs.  Newton  was  incorrect  in  asserting  that  it  was 
not  till  after  he  was  twelve  years  old  that  Chatterton  pro 
duced  his  first  poetical  attempts,  is  apparent  from  the  state- 
ment of  Sir  Herbert  Croft,  that  the  satirical  verses  entitled 
“ Sly  Dick,”  as  well  as  the  Hymn  for  Christmas-Day,  were 
written  by  Chatterton  at  about  the  age  of  eleven;  informa- 
tion which  he  must  have  derived  either  from  Mrs.  Newton,  or 
from  her  mother,  Mrs.  Chatterton.  The  inaccuracy  of  Mrs. 
Newton’s  memory  with  respect  to  the  date  of  her  brother’s 
first  poetical  efforts,  is  further  proved,  beyond  all  contro- 
versy, by  the  fact  that  the  verses  entitled  “Apostate  Will” 
bear  the  date,  in  Chatterton’s  own  handwriting,  of  April  14, 
1764,  when  he  was  not  quite  eleven  years  and  five  months 
old. 

“ This  point  being  established,  it  remains  to  determine  to 
.vhat  limit  Mrs.  Newton’s  inaccuracy  upon  the  subject  may 
reasonably  be  supposed  to  extend. 

“ There  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  correctness  of  Mrs.  New- 
ton’s statement,  that  her  brother  began  to  write  poetry  soon 
after  he  was  confirmed.  Her  error,  as  to  his  age  when  he 
produced  his  first  poetical  efforts,  arose  from  the  period  she 
assigned  to  his  confirmation;  and  the  question  about  to  be 
raised  is,  whether  that  event  did  not  take  place  when  he  was 
ton  years  old,  instead  of  twelve,  as  stated  by  Mrs.  Newton. 

“ In  support  of  the  assumption  of  the  inaccuracy  of  her 
viemory,  in  reference  to  the  date  of  her  brother’s  confirma- 
tion, it  should  be  recollected  that  her  letter  was  written  on 
the  22d  of  September,  1778,  fourteen  years  after  the  period 
assigned  by  her  as  that  when  the  event  took  place;  and  when 
the  circumstances  under  which  she  wrote  are  also  considered, 
it  appears  but  reasonable  to  conclude  that,  whether  fourteen 
or  sixteen  years  had  elapsed  since  the  period  to  which  she 
refers,  was  a point  on  which  her  memory  was  not  unlikely 
to  prove  fallacious. 


KX 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTOX. 


“Neither  is  there  any  improbability  to  contend  with,  in 
assigning  Chatterton’s  confirmation  to  so  early  a period  of 
his  life.  More  than  five  years  had  then  elapsed  since  “ the 
wond’rous  boy”  fell  in  love,  to  use  his  mother’s  expression, 
with  the  rudiments  of  literature ; and  such  ^as  the  ardour 
he  evinced  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  that  at  the  very 
time  to  which  it  is  contended  the  circumstance  of  his  con- 
firmation should  be  assigned,  he  was  in  the  habit,  as  his  sis- 
ter informs  us,  of  expending  what  was  given  him  for  pocket 
money  in  hiring  books  from  a circulating  library. 

“ In  addition  to  these  suggestions  in  favour  of  the  suppo 
sition  that  Chatterton  was  confirmed  at  the  age  of  ten  instead 
of  twelve  years,  the  verses  themselves,  now  produced  as  those 
which  he  wrote  upon  the  occasion,  combined  with  the  cir 
cumstances  connected  with  their  publication,  may  be  con 
fidently  adduced  as  tending  in  a very  high  degree  to  establish 
the  position.  Besides  the  identity  of  the  subject,  they  consist 
of  sixteen  lines,  approximating  to  Mrs.  Newton’s  statement 
in  that  respect,  as  nearly  as  can  be  expected  from  the  indeter 
minate  manner  in  which  she  expresses  herself;  they  contain 
abundant  internal  proof  of  the  juvenility  of  the  writer;  they 
were  inserted  in  the  Bristol  newspaper  to  which  Chatterton, 
as  well  as  his  literary  associates,  were  subsequently  in  the 
habit  of  communicating  their  productions;  and  they  ap- 
peared in  the  seventh  week  after  he  had  attained  the  tenth 
year  of  his  age.” I 

Mr.  Tyson  then  produces  the  lines,  to  which  we  shall 
presently  refer. 

With  respect  to  Chatterton’s  first  poetical  produc- 
tions Mr.  Tyson  is  undoubtedly  right.  It  was  written 
in  1762,  instead  of  1764.  His  sister  is  positive  to  the 
subject,  which  she  states  to  be  “ verses  on  the  last  day 

1 From  a communication  respecting  Chatterton’s  first 
poetical  production,  published  as  an  Appendix  to  Dix’s  Life, 
and  which  I am  permitted,  by  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Tyson,  to 
make  use  of  in  this  biography. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


XXI 


—about  eighteen  lines — written  in  the  week  he  was 
door-keeper.”  1 ' To  Mr.  Tyson’s  industrious  research 
we  owe  the  preservation  of  these  lines,  which  it  was 
' thought  were  entirely  lost.  “ It  is  with  a feeling  of 
gratification,”  observes  that  gentleman,  “ that  they  are 
rescued  from  the  obscurity  in  which  they  were  envel- 
oped, and  placed  before  the  public  eye,  as  exhibit- 
ing the  flutterings  of  the  unfledged  eaglet.”  They 
were  published  in  Felix  Farley’s  Bristol  Journaly  for 
January  8,  1763,  and  are  entitled — 

ON  THE  LAST  EPIPHANY,  OR  CHRIST  COMING  TO 
JUDGMENT. 

Behold ! just  coming  from  above. 

The  Judge,  with  majesty  and  love! 

The  sky  divides,  and  rolls  away, 

T’admit  him  through  the  realms  of  day 
The  sun  astonish’d,  hides  its  face, 

The  moon  and  stars  with  wonder  gaze 
At  Jesu’s  bright  superior  rays ! 

Dread  lightnings  flash,  and  thunders  roar, 

And  shake  the  earth  and  briny  shore ; 

The  trumpet  sounds  at  heaven’s  command, 

And  pierceth  through  the  sea  and  land; 

The  dead  in  each  now  hear  the  voice, 

The  sinners  fear  and  saints  rejoice; 

For  now  the  awful  hour  is  come. 

When  every  tenant  of  the  tomb 
Must  rise,  and  take  his  everlasting  doom. 


1 It  was,  and  still  is,  I believe,  customary  for  the  boys  edu- 
cated at  Colston’s  school  to  take  the  post  of  door-keeper  in 
n)tation,  the  office  continuing  for  the  space  of  a week  at  a 
time  in  the  occupation  of  one  boy.  Of  course  the  lad  in 
office  had  much  leisure  time  during  this  period. — Dix’s  Lift 


XXI 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Nothing  uncommon  in  these — even  for  ten  years  ; but 
then,  in  composition,  as  in  every  thing  else,  when  once 
fairly  in  progress,  Chatterton  made  rapid  strides  to- 
wards perfection. 

“ He  had  been  gloomy  from  the  time  he  began  to  learn^ 
but  he  became  more  cheerful  when  he  began  to  write 
poetry,^*  Why,  the  weight — the  incubus — was  re- 
moved. He  had  burst  his  bonds — could  flutter  now, 
and  prepare  himself  for  higher  flights.  It  was  pleasant 
even  to  feel  his  liberty,  and  to  know  that  what  was 
within  him  he  could  speak  out.  The  bandage  was  re- 
moved from  the  eyes  of  the  mewed  bird.  He  could 
behold  the  heaven,  where  his  thoughts  rested — whence 
his  prophesyings  had  descended,  and  the  living  fire 
that  had  tipped  his  tongue.  While  he  was  yet  musing, 
the  flame  .had  kindled.  His  beliefs,  his  aspirations, 
and  his  ardent,  yearnings — burning,  struggling  to  be 
uttered — they  might  be  uttered  now. 

“ Some  satirical  pieces  we  saio  soon  after”  That  is, 
after  his  twelfth,  or,  as  it  has  been  proved,  his  tenth 
year.  Of  his  powers  of  satire,  we  shall,  bye-and-by, 
have  much  to  say.  It  has  been  generally  thought  that 
his  verses  entitled  “Apostate  Will  ” were  his  first  essay 
in  that  line.  The  opinion  was  erroneous  ; and  the 
proof  in  this  case  we  likewise  owe  to  Mr.  Tyson.  This 
“Apostate  Will”  was  an  unprincipled  man,  who  for 
mercenary  motives  shifted  his  religion  from  one  sect 
vo  another  without  compunction.  Sir  Herbert  Croft 
transcribed  it  after  his  death  from  an  old  pocket-book 
)n  the  possession  of  his  relatives.  This  pocket-book 
had  been  given  to  him  by  his  sister,  as  a New-year’s 
present,  after  his  confirmation,  and  he  had  subsequently 
•eturned  it  to  her  filled  with  attempts  at  poetry.  “ If 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


XXlll 


appears,”  says  the  transcriber,  “ to  be  his  first,  perhaps 
his  only  copy  of  it,  and  is  evidently  his  handwriting. 
By  the  date,  he  was  eleven  years  and  almost  five 
months  old.  It  is  not  the  most  extraordinary  perform- 
ance in  the  world ; but,  from  the  circumstance  of 
Chatterton’s  parentage  and  education,  it  is  unlikely,  if 
not  impossible,  that  he  should  have  met  with  any  as- 
sistance or  correction : whereas,  when  we  read  the 
Ode  which  Pope  wrote  at  twelve,  and  another  of  Cow- 
ley at  thirteen,  we  are  apt  to  suspect  a parent,  friend, 
or  tutor,  of  an  amiable  dishonesty,  of  which  we  feel, 
perhaps  that  we  should  be  guilty.  Suspicions  of  this 
nature  touch  not  Chatterton.  He  knew  no  tutor, 
friend,  or  parent,  at  least  no  parent  who  could  correct 
or  assist  him.”  ^ 

This  is  a larn(i  and  impotent  conclusion.  Pope’s 
father  was  any  thing  but  friendly  disposed  towards  his 
son’s  poetical  powers.  He  would  not,  even  if  he  could, 
have  assisted  him.  And  Chatterton  had  a tutor — 
which  tutor  was  his  intimate  friend,  and  who  himself 
made  a pretence  of  writing  poetry — Thomas  Phillips. 
The  verses,  however,  for  which  this  question  is  begged, 
would  confer  as  little  credit  on  Phillips  as  they  do  on 
Chatterton. 

We  must  again  have  recourse  to  Mr.  Tyson. 

“ In  FeUx  Farley'' s Bristol  Journal  of  Saturday,  December 
17,  1763,  and  some  following  numbers,  a succession  of  satiri- 
cal attacks,  in  verse  and  prose,  are  inserted,  on  a churchwar- 
den, who  is  accused  of  having  ordered  the  levelling  of  the 
churchyard  entrusted  to  his  care,  and  of  hauling  away  the 
clay  to  be  used  for  the  purposes  of  his  trade  as  a brickmaker 

^ “ Love  and  Madness,”  by  Sir  Herbert  Croft 


XXIV 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


One  of  the  pieces  states  that  the  churchyard  allndcQ  U. 
an  appendage  to  the  grandest  structure  in  tliis  city;  lims 
clearly  indicating  it  to  be  that  of  St.  Mary  Redclih'e,  tlie 
churchwarden  of  which,  for  the  year  1763,  'was  Joseph 
Thomas;  and  by  a familiar  abbreviation  of  whose  Christian 
name,  the  person  satirized  is  addressed  in  the  lines  about  to 
be  produced.  With  respect  to  their  authorship,  the  locality 
of  the  circumstance  to  which  they  relate  would  directly 
point  to  Chatterton,  in  whose  mind  the  subject  could  not  fail 
of  exciting  an  interest;  in  addition  to  which  it  presented  a 
tempting  opportunity  of  indulging  the  propensity  to  satire, 
which  formed  so  prominent  a trait  in  his  character. 

“ But  Chatterton’s  title  to  the  composition  in  question 
requires  no  other  proof  than  a comparison  with  the  satire 
entitled  “ Sly  Dick,”  the  commencement  of  which  is  here 
transcribed  to  facilitate  the  reader’s  immediate  reference. 

“ Sharp  was  the  frost,  the  wind  was  high, 

And  sparkling  stars  bedeckt  the  sky: 

Sly  Dick  in  arts  of  cunning  skill’d. 

Whose  rapine  all  his  pockets  fill’d, 

Had  laid  him  down  to  take  his  rest. 

And  soothe  with  sleep  his  anxious  breast. 

’Twas  then  a dark  infernal  sprite,”  &c. 

* * * ♦ 

And  then  follows  the  “ first  satirical  poem,”  which,  as 
we  have  not  included  it  in  the  collection  of  his  “ Ac- 
knowledged Poems,”  we  proceed  to  transcribe.  It 
appeared  in  the  Journal  before  mentioned  for  January 
T,  1764. 

THE  CHURCHWARDEN  AND  THE  Al’PARITION. 

A FABLE. 

The  night  was  cold,  the  wind  was  high, 

And  stars  bespangled  all  the  sky; 

Churchwarden  J*E.  had  laid  him  down, 


life  of  chatterton. 


XXV 


And  slept  secure  on  bed  of  down; 

But  still  the  pleasing  hope  of  gain 
That  never  left  his  active  brain, 

Expos’d  the  churchyard  to  his  view, 

That  seat  of  treasure  wholly  new. 

“ Pull  down  that  cross,”  he  quickly  cried, 

The  mason  instantly  complied ; 

When,  lo!  behold  the  golden  prize 
Appears— joy  sparkles  in  his  eyes. 

The  door  now  creaks, — the  window  shakes. 
With  sudden  fear  he  starts  and  wakes; 
Quaking  and  pale,  in  eager  haste 
His  haggard  eyes  around  he  cast; 

A ghastly  phantom,  lean  and  wan. 

That  instant  rose  and  thus  began: 

“ Weak  wretch — to  think  to  blind  my  eyes! 
Hypocrisy’s  a thin  disguise ; 

Your  humble  mien  and  fawning  tongue 
Have  oft  deceiv’d  the  old  and  young. 

On  this  side  now,  and  now  on  that. 

The  very  emblem  of  the  bat: 

What  ever  part  you  take  we  know 
’Tis  only  interest  makes  it  so. 

And  tho’  with  sacred  zeal  you  burn. 

Religion’s  only  for  your  turn. 

I’m  Conscience  call’d!  ” — J^E.  greatlj^  fear’d; 
The  lightning  flash’d — it  disappear’d. i 


1 The  paper,”  continues  Mr.  Tyson,  “from  which  this 
poem  is  extracted,  contains  a letter,  addressed  to  the  printer 
on  the  same  subject,  with  the  signature  of  “ Fullford  the 
Grave-digger,''  To  enter  into  any  argument  to  prove  that  it 
was  written  by  Chatterton  would  be  trifling  with  the  reader’s 
judgment,  for  to  no  other  person  than  the  author  of  the 
‘Bristowe  Tragedy”  would  such  a signature  have  occurred. 
Tho  observation,  however,  should  not  be  omitted,  that  this 
circumstance  affords  a decided  proof  of  Chatterton’s  ac- 
luaintance  with  the  subject  of  one  of  the  finest  of  Rowley’s 


txvi 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Nothing  of  “ Kew  Gardens”  here, — and  yet  it  was 
wiitten  in  little  better  than  five  years  afterwards. 

These  productions  are  sufficient  to  convict  Mr. 
Thistlethwaite  of  inaccuracy  in  the  opinion  which  he 
had  formed  of  Chatterton's  power,  and  the  period  at 
which  he  first  began  to  join  couplets  together.  The 
poems  of  “ Sly  Dick  ” and  “ Apostate  Will  ” are  in 
themselves  a meagre  evidence  of  his  poetical  faculties 
in  his  eleventh  and  twelfth  years.  But  Thistlethwaite 


poems,  upwards  of  four  years  before  the  least  intimation  was 
given  of  the  discovery  of  any  ancient  manuscripts.  Here  fol- 
lows the  letter: — 

“Mr.  Printer;  Being  old^  and  having  enjoyed  my  place 
many  a long  j^ear,  I have  buried,  or  rather  dug  the  graves  for 
one  half  of  our  parish;  and  could  tell  to  an  inch  where  and 
how  their  bodies  lie,  and  are  ranged  under  ground;  and  by 
this  my  skill  am  always  consulted  by  my  master,  the  sexton, 
where  such  and  such  a family  are  interred,  and  have  never 
failed  of  giving  great  satisfaction  in  the  discharge  of  my 
office.  But,  alas!  I am  like  to  be  robbed  at  once  of  all  my 
knowledge,  procured  at  the  expense  of  so  manj^  years’  close 
study  and  application  to  business:  for  you  must  know,  my 
HEAD  MASTER,  a great  projector,  has  taken  it  into  his  head 
to  level  the  churchyard ; and  by  digging  and  throwing  about 
his  clay  there,  and  defacing  the  stones,  makes  such  confusion 
among  the  dead^  and  will  so  puzzle  me,  if  he  goes  on,  that  no 
man  living  will  be  able  to  find  where  to  lay  them  properly, 
and  then  he  may  dig  the  graves  himself;  for  I foresee,  I shall 
get  the  ill-w'ill  of  the  parish  about  it,  for  even  the  poor  love 
to  bury  with  their  kindred:  and  all’s  but  right  that  they 
should.  I should  be  glad,  therefore,  to  know  the  sense  of  the 
public,  whether  any  body  has  a just  right,  or  needful  call  to 
dig  in  the  churchyard,  besides  ‘ Fullford  the  Grave-digger' 

“ P.  S.  As  I intend  dropping  the  business  of  grave-digger 
now  rendered  so  very  troublesome,  I propose  renting  my  old 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


XXV 11 


n^as  an  advocate  for  the  genuineness  of  the  Rowley 
Poems, — was  a correspondent  of  Dean  Milles  on  the 
subject, — and  a bit  of  an  author  in  his  way.'  He  was 
no  friend  to  Chatterton  ; and  had  an  Interest  in  depre- 
ciating his  abilities. 

Of  the  other  juvenilities  of  Chatterton  we  shall  not 
speak.  Allowing  him,  which  was  undoubtedly  the 
case,  to  have  had  his  great  work  in  contemplation, 
and  to  have  been  fitting  his  powers  for  the  creation, 


spot  of  ground  (the  churchyard)  when  the  green  turf  is  all 
removed,  and  for  decency’s  sake,  will  j)revent  the  naked  ap- 
pearance of  it,  by  planting  potatoes,  raising  some  fine  beds  of 
onions,  &c.,  as  the  mould  is  fat  and  good.  And  1 see  no 
reason  why  I may  not  get  a pi'of  table  job  out  of  the  church, 
as  well  as  my  great  master, — as  I find  that’s  the  game 
now-a-days,  tho’  decency,  convenience  or  the  like,  be  the 
pretence.” 

With  all  deference  to  Mr.  Tyson’s  judgment,  I do  not  think 
this  jeu  d’ esprit  to  be  the  composition  of  Chatterton.  Cer- 
tainly the  mere  casual  coincidence  between  the  assumed 
name  of  the  writer  and  that  of  Sir  Baldwin  Fulford,  in  the 
“ Bristowe  Tragedy,”  which  I presume  Mr.  Tyson  alludes  to, 
is  not  sufficient  to  establish  it.  Besides,  Chatterton  has 
nowhere  recorded  that  Sir  Charles  Bawdin  and  Sir  Baldwin 
Fulford  are  the  same, — there  is  a presumption  that  they  are, 
but  nothing  more.  I do  not  think  that  Chatterton,  in  his 
twelfth  year,  was  equal  even  to  the  very  indifferent  prose  of 
the  letter  in  question.  He  was  never  a good  prose  writer, 
and  in  no  way  tolerable  in  that  line  till  1770. 

t He  wrote  some  things  which  have  been  long  since  for- 
gotten; “ The  Consultation  ” — “The  Prediction  of  Liberty” 
—“The  Tories  in  the  Dumps” — and  “Corruption,”  were 
'imong  them.  “ He  was  a Colston’s-schoolboy,  and  appren- 
ticed to  Mr.  Grant,  bookseller  and  stationer.  He  afterwards 
went  to  London,  and  studied  the  law.” — Dix. 


XXVIll 


LIFE  OF  CIIATTERTON. 


we  cannot  help  wishing  that  he  had  either  not  written 
at  all  such  pieces  as  “ Apostate  Will  ” — or  had  written 
them  better. 


ni. . 


Produces  the  Burgum  pedigree — Leaves  Colston* s school^ 
and  is  articled  to  one  Lambert^  an  attorney. 

In  the  house  in  which  Mrs.  Chatterton  resided, — 
poor  back  tenement,  dismally  situated  in  a kind  of 
court,  behind  a row  of  somewhat  better  houses  that 
fronted  the  street, — there  was  a small  garret  which 
liad  been  used  as  a lumber-room.  Of  this  apartment 
Chatterton  possessed  himself ; he  kept  the  key,  and 
SLiffered  no  one,  if  he  could  help  it,  to  have  access  to 
it.  In  it  were  deposited  all  his  papers  and  parchments, 
and  a variety  of  other  articles,  for  which  his  relations 
found  no  other  terms  than  “ rubbish  ” and  “ litter,”  but 
which  Chatterton  managed  to  convert  into  uses  that 
will  confer  immortality  on  his  name.  In  short,  they 
were  the  materials  from  which  sprung  to  light  the 
Manuscripts  afterwards  produced  by  him  as  the  originals 
of  Rowley,  and  which  are  now  snugly  preserved  in 
the  Library  of  the  British  Museum. 

There  were  not  many  opportunities  afforded  him  of 
labouring  at  his  darling  project.  His  hours  of  absence 
from  Colston’s  school  were  wide  apart — his  half-holidays 
occurred  but  on  Saturday  afternoons.  Punctually, 
however,  as  the  day  came  round,  he  returned,  arriving 
at  home  a few  minutes  after  the  boys  were  dismissed 
and  proceeded  to  shut  himself  in  his  chamber.  Wliat 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


XXIX 


passed  there  remained  a mystery  ; he  revealed  noth- 
ing to  his  friends.^ 

There  were  residing  at  this  time  in  Bristol  two 
tradesmen,  pewterers,  and  partners  in  that  trade — Mr. 
Burgum,  and  Mr.  George  Catcotc.  Chatterton  had 
attracted  the  notice  of  Mr.  Burgum,  as  a remarkable 
boy,  fond  of  reading,  attached  to  antiquities,  and  of 
quick  and  lively  intellect,  and  occasionally  he  had 
received  from  him  small  sums  of  money.-  There  were 


^ From  twelve  to  seven,  each  Saturday,  he  was  always  at 
home,  returning  punctually  a few  minutes  after  the  clock  had 
struck,  to  get  to  his  little  room,  and  shut  himself  up.  In  this 
room  he  always  had  by  him  a great  piece  of  ochre  in  a brown 
pan,  pounce-bags  full  of  charcoal  dust,  which  he  had  from  a 
Miss  Sanger,  a neighbour;  also  a bottle  of  black-lead  powder, 
which  they  once  took  to  clean  the  stove  with,  and  made  him 
very  angr^^  Every  holiday  almost  he  passed  at  home,  and 
often,  having  been  denied  the  key  when  he  wanted  it,  (be- 
cause they  thought  he  hurt  his  health  and  made  himself 
dirty,)  he  would  come  to  Mrs.  Edkins,  and  kiss  her  cheek, 
and  coax  her  to  get  it  for  him,  using  the  most  persuasive  ex- 
pressions to  o^ect  his  end  ; — so  that  this  eagerness  of  his  to 
be  in  this  room  so  much  alone,  the  apparatus,  the  parch- 
ments, (for  he  was  not  then  indentured  to  Mr.  Lambert,)  both 
plain  as  well  as  written  on,  and  the  begrimed  figure  he  al- 
ways presented  when  he  came  down  at  tea-time,  his  face 
exhibiting  many  stains  of  black  and  yellow, — all  these  cir- 
cumstances began  to  alarm  them  ; and  when  she  could  get 
into  his  room,  she  would  be  very  inquisitive,  and  peep  about 
at  every  thing.  Once  he  put  his  foot  on  a parchment  on  the 
floor,  to  prevent  her  from  taking  it  up,  saying,  “You  are  too 
curious  and  clear-sighted — I wish  vou  would  bide  out  of  the 
room — it  is  my  room.’’  To  this  she  answered  by  telling  him, 
it  was  only  a general  lumber  room  and  that  she  wanted  some 
wchment  to  make  thread-papers  of;  but  he  was  offended 


XXX 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTOX. 


few  points  of  human  character,  which,  young  as  he 
was,  he  had  left  unstudied.  Burgum  is  described  as 
having  been  a vain  and  credulous  man,  fond  of  noto- 
riety and  display, — a fit  subject,  undoubtedly,  to  prac- 
tise a hoax  upon  ; and  Chatterton  set  about  it. 

He  went  to  him  one  day,  and  told  him  that  he  had 
found  his  pedigree,  from  the  time  of  William  the  Con- 
queror,— a pedigree  that  allied  him  to  the  proudest 
families  in  England, — a pedigree  that  deduced  his 
descent  from  Simon  de  Leyncte  Lyze,  alias  Senliz, 
who  married  Matilda,  daughter  of  Waltheof,  Earl  of 
Northumberland,  Northampton,  and  Huntingdon.  He 
assured  the  pewterer  this,  and  the  pewterer  believed  it. 

In  the  generosity  of  his  elated  heart,  Mr.  Burgum, 
upon  the  production  of  this  important  document, — 
presented  its  fortunate  discoverer  with  the  magni- 
ficent sum  of  five  shillings.  From  this  recompense, 
and  some  peculiarities  displayed  by  the  same  gentle- 
man, Chatterton  has  handed  him  down  to  posterity  in 
his  will ; — 

“ Gods ! what  wou  Burgum  give  to  get  a name, 

And  snatch  his  blundering  dialect  from  shame  1 

and  would  not  permit  her  to  touch  any  of  them,  not  even 
those  that  were  not  written  on ; but  at  last,  with  a voice  of 
entreaty,  said,  “ Pray  don’t  touch  any  thing  here,”  and 
seemed  very  anxious  to  get  her  away;  and  this  increased  her 
fears,  lest  he  should  be  doing  something  improper,  knowing 
his  want  of  money,  and  ambition  to  appear  like  others.  At 
last  they  got  a strange  idea  that  these  colours  were  to  colour 
himself,  and  that,  perhaps,  he  would  join  some  gypsies  one 
iay  or  other,  as  he  seemed  so  discontented  with  his  station  in 
life,  and  unhappy. — Communicated  by  G.  Cumberland.  Esq.,  in 
IHx's  Life. 


LIFE  OF  CriATTEETOX. 


A XXI 


What  would  he  give  to  hand  his  memory  down 
To  Time’s  remotest  boundary? — A crown. 

Would  you  ask  more,  his  swelling  face  looks  blue, 
Futurity  he  rates  at  two  pounds  two. 

Well,  Burgum,  take  thy  laurel  to  thy  brow; 

With  a rich  saddle  decorate  a sow; 

Strut  in  lambics,  totter  in  an  ode. 

Promise,  and  never  pay,  and  be  the  mode.” 

But  where  was  this  document  found? — and  how 
came  it  into  the  possession  of  a Bristol  charity-boy  ? 
Rather  important  questions,  in  the  estimation  of  those 
at  the  Herald’s  office.  Alas  ! Burgum,  thy  blue  looks, 
and  thy  blank  looks — of  what  avail  will  they  be  ? 
Thou  must  get  thee  back  to  thy  pewterer’s  shop,  and 
thy  smelting  pot. 

The  ancestors  of  Chatterton,  for  upwards  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years,  had  filled  the  office  of  Sexton 
of  the  church  of  St.  Mary  Redcliffe.  His  uncle,  in- 
deed, John  Chatterton,  who  died  a few  years  previous 
to  his  birth,  had  been  the  last  of  that  name  who  had 
inherited  it ; but  from  the  contiguity  of  his  mother’s 
house  to  that  noble  structure,  the  young  Chatterton 
had  generally  a free  access  to  all  parts  of  the  building. 
The  affair  is  somewhat  singular,  and  will  be  best  told 
in  the  following  extract  from  Dr.  Gregory. 

“ Over  the  north  porch  of  St.  Mary  Redclifte  church, 
which  was  founded,  or  at  least  rebuilt,  by  Mr.  W.  Canynge, 
(an  eminent  merchant  of  Bristol  in  the  fifteenth  century,  and 
in  the  reign  of  Edward  the  Fourth,)  there  is  a kind  of  muni- 
ment room,  in  which  were  deposited  six  or  seven  chests,  one 
of  whish  in  particular  was  said  to  be  Mr.  Canynge'' s cofre; 
this  chest  it  is  said,  was  secured  by  six  keys,  two  of  which 
were  entrusted  to  the  minister  and  procurator  of  the  church, 
VOL.  T.  C 


XXXll 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


two  to  the  mayor,  and  one  to  each  of  the  churcliwardens.  Id 
process  of  time,  however,  the  six  keys  appear  to  have  been 
lost;  and  about  the  year  1727,  a notion  prevailed  that  some 
title-deeds  and  other  writings  of  value  were  contained  in  Mr. 
Canynge’s  cofre.  In  consequence  of  this  opinion  an  order 
of  vestry  was  made  that  the  chest  should  be  opened  under 
the  inspection  of  an  attorney,  and  that  those  writings  which 
appeared  of  consequence  should  be  removed  to  the  south 
porch  of  the  church.  The  locks  were  therefore  forced,  and 
not  only  the  principal  chest,  but  the  others,  which  were  also 
supposed  to  contain  writings,  were  all  broken  open.  The 
deeds  immediately  relating  to  the  church  were  removed,  and 
the  other  manuscripts  were  left  exposed  as  of  no  value. 
Considerable  depreciations  had,  from  time  to  time,  been  com 
mitted  upon  them  by  different  persons ; but  the  most  insatiate 
of  these  plunderers  was  the  father  of  Chatterton.  His  uncle 
being  sexton  of  St.  Mary  Redcliffe,  gave  him  free  access  to 
the  church.  He  carried  off,  from  time  to  time,  parcels  of  the 
parchments;  and  one  time  alone,  with  the  assistance  of  the 
boys,  is  knowm  to  have  filled  a large  basket  with  them.  They 
were  deposited  in  a cupboard  in  the  school,  and  employed  for 
different  purposes,  such  as  the  covering  of  cop}^-books,  &c. ; 
in  particular,  Mr.  Gibbs,  the  minister  of  the  parish,  having 
presented  the  boys  with  twentj^  bibles,  Mr.  Chatterton,  in 
order  to  preserve  these  books  from  being  damaged,  covered 
them  with  some  of  the  parchments.  At  his  death,  the  widow 
being  under  the  necessity  of  removing,  carried  the  remainder 
of  them  to  her  new  habitation.  Of  the  discovery  of  their 
value  by  the  younger  Chatterton,  the  account  of  Mr.  Smith, 
a very  intimate  acquaintance,  which  he  gave  to  Dr.  Glynn, 
of  Cambridge,  is  too  interesting  to  be  omitted.  “ When  young 
Chatterton  was  first  articled  to  Mr.  Lambert,  he  used  fre- 
quently to  come  home  to  his  mother,  by  way  of  a short  visit. 
There,  one  day,  his  eye  was  caught  by  one  of  these  parch- 
ments, which  had  been  converted  into  a thread-paper.  He 
found  not  onl}^  the  writing  to  be  very  old,  the  characters  very 
different  from  common  characters,  but  that  the  subject 
fclierein  treated  was  different  from  common  subjects.  Being 


LIFE  OF  CIIATTERTON. 


XXXlll 


naturally  of  an  inquisitive  and  curious  turn,  ne  was  very 
much  struck  with  their  appearance,  and,  as  might  be  ex- 
pected, began  to  question  his  mother  what  those  thread-papers 
were,  how  she  got  them,  and  whence  they  came.  Upon  fur- 
ther inquiry,  he  was  led  to  a full  discovery  of  all  the  parch- 
ments which  remained.’  The  bulk  of  them  consisted  of 
poetical  and  other  compositions,  by  Mr.  Canynge,  and  a par- 
ticular friend  of  his,  Thomas  Rowley,  whom  Ghatterton  at 
first  called  a monk,  and  afterwards  a secular  priest  of  the 
fifteenth  century.  Such  at  least  appears  to  be  the  accmnt 
which  Chatterton  thought  proper  to  give^  and  which  he  wished  to 
he  believed.'' 


That  Chatterton  was  acquainted  with  these  docu- 
ments before  he  was  articled  to  Mr.  Lambert,  is  evi- 
dent from  the  circumstance  of  his  producing  the  Bur- 
gum  pedigree,  and  his  assertion  that  the  materials  from 
which  it  was  compiled  were  found  in  the  old  chests  in 
the  muniment  room  of  Redclifife  church. 

Burgum  never  seems  to  have  doubted  the  improba- 
bility of  this  story.  We  do  not  know  that  he  even 
inquired  about  the  originals,  but  appeared  sufficiently 
contented  with  the  transcript  which  Chatterton  thought 
proper  to  give  him.  And  lo! — in  the  charity-boy’s 
liand writing — in  a small  school-boy’s  copy-book,  there 
came  to  Mr.  Burgum  a succinct  account  of  all  his  an- 
cestors, rescued  from  the  gulph  of  all-devouring  time. 
The  document  bore  the  following  title  : “ An  account 
i)f  the  family  of  the  De  Bergham,  from  the  Norman 
Conquest  to  this  time ; collected  from  original  records, 
tournament  rolls,  and  the  heralds  of  march  and  garter 
records,  by  T.  Chatterton.”  The  remuneration  which 
Chatterton  received,  we  have  already  stated  to  have 
been  five  shillings. 


xxxiv 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Elated  with  this  success,  and  finding  his  poor  dupe 
to  be  no  way  incredulous  or  suspicious  of  the  hoax 
thus  triumphantly  practised  upon  him,  Chatterton  set 
to  work  again,  and  in  a fortnight  afterwards  presented 
the  pewterer  with  a second  document,  being  nothing 
else  than  a supplement  to  the  pedigree — ^in  fact,  a 
“ Continuation  of  the  account  of  the  family  of  the  De 
Bergham,  from  the  Norman  Conquest  to  this  time,  by 
T.  Chatterton.”  And  indeed  he  had  been  even  more 
liberal  in  this  second  communication  than  in  the  first, 
for  now  Mr.  Burgum  discovered  that  he  might  claim 
descent  from  an  undoubted  son  of  Parnassus,  who  was, 
as  Chatterton  testified,  “ the  greatest  ornament  of  his 
age.”  The  fact  was  truly  undeniable ; tor  here,  pre- 
served in  the  archives  of  Bedcliffe  church — amongst 
all  the  evidence  that  allied  Mr.  Burgum  to  nobility  and 
royalty — appeared  a poem  written  by  his  ancestor,  one 
John  De  Bergham,  and  entituled  “ The  Romaunte  of 
the  Cnyghte.”  This  poem  Chatterton  had  transcribed 
in  all  its  genuine  orthography  ; and  the  better  to  eluci- 
date its  beauties — as  Mr.  Burgum  was  unskilled  in 
gothic  lore — he  accompanied  it  with  a modernized 
version,  by  himself.  “ To  give  you,”  says  he  to  the 
pewterer,  “ an  idea  of  the  poetry  of  the  age,  take  the 
following  piece,  wrote  by  him  (John  De  Bergham) 
about  1320.”  This  was  not  all ; he  adds  a list  of  some 
of  the  works  of  which  this  said  ancestor  was  the 
author. 

“ This  John  was  one  of  the  greatest  ornaments  of  the  age 
Li  which  he  lived.  He  wrote  several  books,  and  translated 
9cme  part  of  the  lliad^  under  the  title  ‘ Romance  of  Troy,’ 
which  possibly  may  be  the  book  alluded  to  in  the  following 
French  memoire. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


XXXV 


“ Un  Lyvre  ke  parle  de  quartee  principal  gestes,  et  de 
Charles:  le  romaunce  Titus  et  Vespasian:  le  roraaunce  de 
Agyres : le  romaunce  de  Marchaunce : le  romaunce  de  Ed- 
mund et  Agoland : le  Ribaud  par  Monsieur  Iscannus : !e  ro- 
maunce de  Tibbot  de  Arable:  le  romaunce  de  Troys,  &c.” 

He  brought  likewise  the  De  Bergham  arms  “ labori- 
ously painted  ” on  parchment. 

In  this  second  portion  of  the  pedigree  the  “ac- 
count  is  carried  down  to  the  reign  of  Charles  the 
Second  ; and  there,  as  the  pewterer  was  not  unlikely 
to  know  something  of  his  ancestors — it  being  only  re- 
moved by  a period  of  a hundred  years — Chatterton 
very  wisely  stopped. 

Long  afterwards — after  Chatterton’s  death,  indeed — 
Mr.  Burgum  made  a journey  to  London,  and  laid  be- 
fore the  heralds  of  March  and  Garter,  for  their  ap- 
proval, this  pedigree  of  the  De  Bergham  family  ; the 
result  was,  that  he  returned  to  Bristol,  carried  on  his 
pewtering,  and  thought  no  more  of  his  ancestors ! 1 

So  much  for  the  first  creation  of  Thomas  Chatter- 
ton. 

In  the  letter  from  Mr.  Thistlethwaite  to  Dean  Milles, 
to  which  we  have  before  had  occasion  to  refer,  there 
is  mention  made  of  a circumstance,  which,  if  true,  will 
prove  the  composition  of  the  Rowley  poems  to  be  al- 
ready commenced. 

1 Messrs.  Catcott  and  Burgum  appear  to  have  been  re- 
l^ectable  men,  and  to  have  carried  on  a good  business.  We 
can  hardlj’  laugh  at  the  half-ennobled  pewterer  for  swaliow- 
vig  the  hoax,  when  we  find  the  late  editors  of  Chatterton’s 
Works — Messrs.  Southey  and  Cottle,  1803 — not  daring  to  say 
that  they  knew  it  to  be  such,  but  only  questioning  its  au- 
Mienticity. 


xxxvi 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


“ Going  down  Horse-street,  near  the  school,  one  day  dur- 
ing the  summer  of  1764,  I accidentally  met  with  Chatterton; 
entering  into  conversation  with  him,  the  subject  of  which  1 
do  not  now  recollect,  he  informed  me  that  he  was  in  posses- 
sion of  certain  old  MSS.  which  had  been  deposited  in  a chest 
in  Reddiffe  church,  and  that  he  had  lent  some,  or  one  of 
them,  to  Phillips.  Within  a day  or  two  after  this  I saw  Phil- 
lips, and  repeated  to  him  the  information  I had  received  from 
Chatterton.  Phillips  produced  a MS.  on  parchment  or  vel- 
lum, which  I am  confident  was  Elinoure  and  Juga""  a kind 
of  pastoral  eclogue,  afterwards  published  in  the  Town  and 
Country  Magazine  for  May,  1769.  The  parchment  or  vellum 
appeared  to  have  been  closely  pared  round  the  margin,  for 
what  purpose  or  by  what  accident  I know  not,  but  the  words 
were  evidently  entire  and  unmutilated. 

“As  the  writing  was  yellow  and  pale,  manifestly  as  I con- 
ceive occasioned  by  age,  and  consequently  difficult  to  de- 
cipher, Phillips  had  with  his  pen  traced  and  gone  over  several 
of  the  lines,  (which,  as  far  as  my  recollection  serves,  were 
written  in  the  manner  of  prose,  and  without  any  regard  to 
punctuation,)  and  by  that  means  laboured  to  attain  the  ob- 
ject of  his  pursuit — an  investigation  of  their  meaning.  1 
endeavoured  to  assist  him,  but  from  an  almost  total  ignorance 
of  the  character,  manners,  language,  and  orthography  of  the 
^ge  in  which  the  lines  were  written,  all  our  efibrts  were  un- 
H'ofitably  exerted ; and  although  we  arrived  at  an  explana- 
tion, and  corrected  many  of  the  words,  still  the  sense  was* 
notoriously  deficient. 

“ For  my  own  part,  having  little  or  no  taste  for  such  stud- 
ies, I repined  not  at  the  disappointment;  Phillips,  on  the 
contrary,  was  to  all  appearance  mortified;  indeed,  much 
more  so  than  at  that  time  I thought  the  object  deserved;  ex- 
pressing his  sorrow  at  his  want  of  success,  and  repeatedly 
declaring  his  intention  of  resuming  the  attempt  at  a future 
period.” 

Little  dependence,  I believe,  is  to  be  placed  on  the 
veracity  of  Mr.  Thistlethwaite’s  statement.  It  is  true 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON.  XXXvii 

that  his  letter  was  written  in  1 781 , seventeen  years  after 
the  time  to  which  he  refers  ; and  that  at  the  period  in 
question  he  was  only  thirteen  years  of  age.  What 
could  a charity-boy,  like  Thistlethwaite,  of  hardly 
average  talents,  know  about  the  antiquity  of  parch- 
ment and  vellum,  and  the  genuineness  of  manuscripts 
of  the  fifteenth  century  ? I must  be  pardoned  if  I state 
that  I believe  the  whole  to  be  a fabrication.  Phillips 
and  Chatterton  were  both  dead,  and  no  doubt  could 
be  thrown  on  the  story.  And  allowing — what  I will 
readily  acknowledge — Chatterton  to  have  been  the 
most  remarkable  youth  upon  record,  I cannot,  with 
“Apostate  Will  ” and  the  “ Hymn  to  Christmas  Day  ” 
before  me,  as  the  evidence  of  his  poetical  powers  at 
eleven,  believe,  that  in  less  than  a year  he  could  have 
produced — though  he  might  have  contemplated — one 
of  the  finest  of  the  Rowley  Poems.  Certainly,  among 
the  parchments  which  were  preserved  as  originals, 
there  is  no  trace  of  “ Liinoure  and  Juga.” 

It  was  on  the  1st  of  July,  1767,  that  Chatterton  took 
his  leave  of  Colston’s  school.  He  had  been  there 
nearly  seven  years.  On  the  same  day  he  was  bound 
apprentice  to  a Mr.  John  Lambert,  an  attorney ; the 
trustees  of  the  school  paying  the  usual  fee  of  ten 
pounds  to  his  new  master.  The  indentures  of  his  ap- 
prenticeship are  preserved  in  the  Literary  and  Scien- 
tific Institution  at  Bristol.  They  specify  that  he  was 
to  be  found  in  food,  clothing,  and  lodging  by  his  mas- 
ter ; while  his  mother  was  to  wash  and  mend  for  him. 

And  here  a new  era  opened  in  the  life  of  Chatter- 
ton. It  does  not  indeed  appear  that  he  had  any  choice 
•offered  him  of  a situation, — or  whether  his  inclinations 
ivere  consulted, — whether,  in  short,  he  had  any  interest 


XXXVlll 


LIFE  OF  CIIATTERTON. 


in  the  affair,  further  than  a home  found  him  for  an- 
other seven  years,  which  was  the  intended  term  of  his 
apprenticeship.  His  mother  was  very  poor ; and  he 
would  not  like  to  have  remained  a burden  upon  her, 
which  in  the  choice  of  another  occupation  might  have 
occurred;  his  every  wish,  on  the  contrary,  seems  to 
have  been,  to  relieve  and  assist  her. 

But  here  he  was  removed  from  home  altogether: 
no  more  Saturday  afternoons,  and  whole  holidays  on 
saint’s-days  ; no  more  of  the  little  room,  and  hammer- 
ing on  the  Bowley  anvil — not,  at  least,  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Redcliffe  church,  and  the  tomb  of  “ dynge 
Maistre  Canynge.”  A great  mistake,  Mr.  Catcott 
seems  to  have  made,  when,  in  the  Gentleman’s  Mag- 
azine for  August,  1788,  he  says  that  Chatterton  first 
presented  him  with  the  poems  of  Rowley  in  17G8, 
while  he  wore  on  his  head  the  tonsure-cap  of  Colston's 
school. 

There  was  very  little  business  transacted  in  Lam- 
bert’s office,  and,  with  the  exception  of  about  two  or 
three  hours,  Chatterton  had  the  whole  day  to  himself. 
He  was  kept  sufficiently  strict,  however,  being  sent  to 
the  office  every  morning  at  eight  o’clock,  where  he 
remained,  omitting  the  sixty  minutes  allotted  for  din- 
ner, till  the  clock  stood  at  the  same  hour  in  the  even- 
ing. He  was  then  at  liberty  till  ten  o’clock,  at  which 
time  the  family  went  to  bed.  When  in  the  house, 
which  was  distinct  from  the  office,  he  was  confined 
to  the  kitchen ; he  slept  with  the  foot-boy,  and  was 
subjected  to  other  indignities  of  a like  nature.  His 
pride,  which  always  characterized  him,  took  offence  at 
this  mortifying  treatment,  and  he  became  gloomy  and 
mllen,  exhibiting  frequent  fits  of  ill-temoer. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


XXXIX 


Lambert,  indeed,  was  a vulgar,  Insolent,  imperious 
man,  who,  because  the  boy  wrote  poetry,  was  of  a 
melancholy  and  contemplative  disposition,  and  dis- 
posed to  study  and  reading,  thought  him  a fit  object 
of  insult  and  contemptuous  usage.  Yet,  notwithstand- 
ing, he  bears  the  highest  testimony  to  the  worth  of 
Chatterton,  to  his  regularity  in  his  profession,  his  punc- 
tual attendance  on  all  the  duties  required  of  him,  and 
admita  that  he  once  only  had  occasion  to  correct  him. 
And  then  Chatterton  must  needs  satirize  the  head- 
master of  the  school  he  had  just  left,  a Mr.  Warner,  in 
an  anonymous  letter,  written  in  very  abusive  terms,  but 
which  the  handwriting,  only  partially  disguised,  and 
the  texture  of  the  paper — being  the  same  as  that  used 
in  the  office — brought  home  to  the  real  culprit.  On 
this  occasion  he  struck  him  a few  blows. 

Chatterton  was  a good  apprentice.  There  are  still 
extant  in  his  handwriting,  a folio  book  of  law  forms 
and  precedents,  containing  three  hundred  and  thirty- 
four  closely  written  pages ; also  thirty-six  pages  in 
another  book  of  the  same  kind.  In  the  noting-book 
are  thirty-six  notarial  acts,  besides  many  notices  and 
letters  transcribed  in  the  ordinary  book.  These  were 
done  independently  of  his  regular  duties.  At  night, 
punctually  as  the  clock  struck  ten,  he  would  be  at 
Mr.  Lambert’s  door.  “We  saw  him,”  his  sister  writes, 
“ most  evenings  before  nine,  and  he  would,  in  general, 
stay  to  the  limits  of  his  time,  which  was  ten.  He  was 
seldom  two  evenings  together  without  seeing  us.”  The 
time,  also,  which  was  at  his  command,  when  he  neg- 
lected to  visit  his  friends,  was  generally  spent  in 
^litary  rambles.  Mr.  Lambert  says  that  he  never 
knew  him  in  bad  company,  or  suspected  him  of  any 
inclination  thereto. 


xl 


LIFE  OF  CnATTERTON. 


When  we  consider  that  he  was  now  fifteen  years  of 
age,  and  that  in  less  than  three  years  more  his  eareei 
of  existence  was  terminated,  we  begin  to  inquire 
where,  and  how,  did  he  find  time  to  produce  the  works 
which  now  bear  his  name  ? Let  the  reader  examine 
the  contents  of  this  volume.  A goodly  quantity  even 
here,  to  say  nothing  of  the  quality  ; and  this  without  tak- 
ing into  account  a series  of  Prose  Works  not  of  sufficient 
value  to  be  reprinted ; and  many  poems,  some  of  con- 
siderable length,  which  are  gone  altogether,  which 
perished  with  their  author  when  he  tore  his  manu- 
scripts into  fragments ; or  have  been  since  lost  by  the 
carelessness  of  persons  into  whose  possession  they  fell.l 

That  the  greater  part  of  his  works  were  written 
during  his  stay  with  Mr.  Lambert, — that  the  Creation, 
which  will  forever  confer  immortality  on  his  name, 
was  consummated  in  these  hours  of  leisure,  of  which, 
we  have  already  intimated,  many  fell  to  his  share, 
there  is  abundant  evidence  to  prove.  We  are  indeed 
entering  upon  his  life  in  earnest,  when  we  arrive  at 
this  period.  The  proud  and  lonely  boy,  with  those 
bright  flashing  eyes  of  his,  and  that  wild  unearthly 
look,  did  not  wander  about  the  banks  of  the  river, 
when  he  could  snatch  an  hour  for  exercise,  swinging 
his  arms  to  and  fro,  and  talking  rapidly  to  himself, 
without  an  object.  Those  fits  of  sullenness  and  stu- 
pidity of  which  he  has  been  accused — of  total  abstrac- 

1 That  this  has  been  the  case  with  many  of  his  productions, 
there  is  no  doubt.  Walpole  speaks  of  several  which  he  saw^ 
and  w^ich  are  now  nowhere  to  be  found.  Among  these 
were  “ The  Flight,”  addressed  to  Lord  Bute,  in  forty  stanzas 
of  six  lines  each;  and  “ The  Dowager,  a Tragedy,”  unfrn* 
ished. 


LIFE  OF  CIIATTERTON. 


xli 


tion  from  the  all  of  the  external  world ; those  intervals 
of  silence,  when  with  difficulty  he  could  be  got  tc 
speak  or  make  answer  to  an  inquiry;  when,  by  his 
sister’s  testimony,  “for  days  together  he  would  say 
very  little,  and  apparently  by  constraint ; ” when  he 
he  would  sit  and  weep  for  hours,  no  cause  or  motive 
assigned, — were  nothing  less  than  the  agonies  of  the 
poet — as  of  the  inspired  Pythoness,  labouring  beneath 
the  transmission  of  the  divine  afflatus,  and  the  spirit 
of  unwonted  prophecy. 

There  was  much  to  bear  with  in  the  life  they  were 
leading  him,  portioning  him  with  vulgar,  illiterate 
menials,  and  confining  him  to  strict  office  hours,  send- 
ing to  and  fro  men-servants  and  maid-servants  to 
watch  his  actions,  and,  if  possible,  detect  him  off 
his  post.  There  was  much  to  endure  in  the  insolent 
brutality  of  his  master,  who,  as  Chatterton  complained, 
“ was  continually  insulting  him  and  making  his  life 
miserable  ; ” tearing  up  and  destroying  his  compositions, 
and  annoying  him  with  coarse  and  contemptuous  allu- 
sions. But  the  ardour  of  the  young  poet  was  not  so 
easily  quenched, — of  too  obdurate  and  fierce  a nature 
the  spirit  they  meanly  assailed.  “ The  sleep  of  the 
eagle  on  the  cliff-edge  above  the  roar  of  cataracts,  and 
in  the  heart  of  the  thunder-cloud,  is  hushed  and  deep 
AS  that  of  the  halcyon  on  the  smooth  and  sunny  main.” 


IV. 

Astonishes  the  literati  o f Bristol  with  an  account  of  the 
“ Fry  ars^  first  passing  over  the  old  bridge*^ 

Chatterto’'  was  devotedly  attached  to  the  study  of 


xlii 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTOX. 


heraldry.  According  to  the  evidence  collected  b}  hii 
last  biographer,  he  seized  upon  every  opportunity  to 
perfect  himself  there! n.i  I cannot  help  thinking, 
however,  that  the  knowledge  of  that  science  which  he 
acquired,  and  certainly  the  taste  he  displayed — judg- 
ing by  the  shields  and  escutcheons  he  has  left  behind 
him — border  very  closely  on  the  ridiculous.  His  ideas 
of  architecture  were  perhaps  more  grotesque  : the 
drawings  of  Bristol  Castle,  and  other  public  edifices, 
which  he  palmed  upon  Mr.  Barrett,  and  which  the 
silly  Dean  Milles  believed  to  be  authentic,  are  justly 
reprobated  by  Warton,  as  the  representations  of  build- 
ings which  never  existed,  in  a capricious,  affected 
style  of  Gothic  architecture,  reducible  to  no  system. 
The  attempts^  however,  in  both  sciences  display  con- 
siderable ingenuity,  and  a wonderful  talent  for  invention. 

In  the  mean  time,  while  engaging  himself  in  multi- 
farious pursuits,  the  disgust  which  he  had  conceived 

^ He  was  also  very  partial  to  the  study  of  heraldry,  and 
used  to  inform  persons  what  their  arms  were.  He  one  day 
said  to  Mr.  Palmer,  “ I’ll  tell  you  the  meaning  of  your  name. 
Persons  used  to  go  to  the  Holy  Land,  and  returned  from 
thence  with  palm  branches,  and  so  were  called  Palmers:” 
he  said  the  arms  of  the  Palmers  were  three  palm  branches, 
.xnd  the  crest,  a leopard,  or  tiger,  with  a palm  branch  in  his 
mouth. — Chatterton  was  very  anxious  to  understand  the 
drawing  of  heraldry,  and  for  this  purpose  he  applied  to  Mr. 
Palmer  for  some  instructions  respecting  it;  the  employment 
of  the  latter  chiefly  being  that  of  engraving  coats-of-arms  and 
crests  on  plate.  Mr.  P.  also  taught  him  how  to  colour  his 
designs.  A number  of  these  drawings  of  Chatterton  were  in 
Mr.  Palmer’s  possession,  which  he  afterwards  gave  up  to  some 
"verson  who  was  making  inquiries  with  a view  to  writing  his 
life.— Dix’s  Life  of  Chatterton. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


xliii 


for  his  profession  continued  to  increase,  lie  was  loud 
in  his  complaints  against  the  injustice  of  Lambert 
He  despised  the  society  into  which  he  was  cast ; he 
maintained  a gloomy  reserve,  speaking  to  no  one — re- 
treating into  his  own  invisible  world — betraying  only 
by  the  curled  lip  and  scornful  smile,  his  consciousness 
of  any  thing  that  passed  around  him.  What  had  he  in 
common  with  his  vulgar  associates  ? 

Even  with  the  better  class  of  persons  with  whom  he 
occasionally  mixed,  he  was  not  disposed  to  be  over 
communicative.  His  mind  was  growing  antique  from 
the  long  contemplation  of  Rowley.  His  existence — • 
only  partially,  and  when  he  gave  the  reins  to  his  satir- 
ical disposition — was  of  the  eighteenth  century, — 
otherwhiles  of  the  fifteenth ; shrouded  amongst  dust 
and  cobwebs,  musty  parchments  and  obliterated . in- 
scriptions, and  his  imagination  haunted  with  visions 
of  ghostly  friars  and  trains  of  shaven  monks  pacing  in 
sable  stole  the  cloisters  of  St.  John's. 

A friend  named  Baker,  who  had  left  Bristol  and 
gone  to  America,  had  requested  Chatterton  to  main- 
tain a correspondence  with  him  : this  friend  had  been 
his  bedfellow  while  at  Colston's  school,  and  the  poet 
had  conceived  a great  attachment  for  him.  About  his 
fifteenth  year,  soon  after  Baker  had  reached  his  desti- 
nation, Chatterton  sent  him  a letter  composed  of  all 
the  hard  words  he  could  think  of,  and  requested  him 
to  answer  in  the  same  style.  About  nine  months  after 
he  was  articled  to  Mr.  Lambert,  he  wrote  again.  The 
letter  on  this  occasion,  which  is  the  earliest  of  Chatter- 
*^on’s  epistles  extant,  is  as  follows : — 

“ March  6,  1768. 

“ Dear  Friend, — I must  now  close  my  poetical  labours, 


xliv 


LIFE  OF  CHATTEKTON. 


my  master  being  returned  from  London.  You  write  in  a very 
entertaining  style;  though  I am  afraid  mine  will  be  the  con- 
trary. Your  celebrated  Miss  Rumsey  is  going  to  be  married 
to  Mr.  Fowler,  as  he  himself  informs  me.  Pretty  children ! 
about  to  enter  into  the  comfortable  yoke  of  matrimony,  to  be 
at  their  own  liberty;  just  apropos  to  the  old  law — but  out  of 
the  frying-pan  into  the  fire ! For  a lover,  heavens  mend  him ! 
but  for  a husband,  oh  excellent!  what  a female  Machiavel 
this  Miss  Rumsey  is ! A very  good  mistress  of  nature  to  dis- 
cover a demon  in  the  habit  of  a parson;  to  find. a spirit  so  well 
adapted  to  the  humour  of  an  English  wife,  that  is,  one  who 
takes  off  his  hat  to  every  person  he  chances  to  meet,  to  show 
his  staring  horns,  and  very  politely  stands  at  the  door  of  his 
wife’s  chamber,  whilst  her  gallant  is  entertaining  her  within. 
0 mirabili!  what  will  human  nature  degenerate  into?  Fowler 
aforesaid  declares  he  makes  a scruple  of  conscience  of  being 
too  free  with  Miss  Rumsey  before  marriage.  There’s  a 
gallant  for  you  I why  a girl  with  any  thing  of  the  woman, 
would  despise  him  for  it.  But  no  more  of  him.  I am  glad 
you  approve  of  the  ladies  in  Charles-Towp ; and  am  obliged 
to  you  for  the  compliment  of  including  me  in  your  happiness; 
my  friendship  is  as  firm  as  the  white  rock  when  the  black 
waves  roar  around  it  and  the  waters  burst  on  its  hoary  top, 
when  the  driving  wind  ploughs  the  sable  sea,  and  the  rising 
waves  aspire  to  the  clouds,  turning  with  tl  e rattling  hail.  So 
much  for  heroics.  To  speak  in  plain  English,  I am,  and  ever 
will  be,  your  unalterable  friend.  I did  not  give  ^mur  love  to 
Miss  Rumsey,  having  not  yet  seen  her  in  private,  and  in  public 
she  will  not  speak  to  me,  because  of  her  great  love  to  Fowler; 
and  on  another  occasion.  I have  been  violently  in  love  these 
three-and-twenty  times  since  your  departure ; and  not  a few 
times  came  off  victorious.  I am  obliged  to  you  for  your 
curiosity,  and  shall  esteem  it  very  much,  not  on  account  of 
itself,  but  as  coming  from  jmu.  The  poems,  &c.  on  Miss 
Eoyland  I wish  better,  for  her  sake  and  your’s.  The  Tour- 
nament I have  only  one  canto  of,  which  I send  herewith ; 
the  remainder  is  entirely  lost.  I am,  with  the  greatest  regret^ 
going  to  subscribe  myself — Your  faithful  and  constant  friend 
’till  death  do  us  part,  Thomas  Chatterton- 

“ ^l/r.  Bakti\  Charhs-Town^  South  Carolina^' 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON.  xlv 

The  poem  “ To  a Friend,”  in  vol.  i.  p.  94,  was  writ 
ten  at  the  same  time,  and  to  the  same  correspondent. 

This  Miss  Ho}dand  was  Baker’s  inamorata.  The 
poems  enclosed  in  the  letter,  and  addressed  to  her, 
were  sufficiently  “namby-pamby”  to  captivate  the 
intellect  of  any  young  lady.  They  are,  in  truth,  with 
one  or  two  exceptions,  but  trashy  compositions,  hur- 
ried over  in  a slovenly  manner,  when  he  could  snatch 
a moment  from  works  of  greater  importance.  Nor  is 
the  taste  of  Chatterton  to  be  at  all  impugned  in  the 
matter.  There  are  some  ten  or  twelve  of  them,  ex- 
hibiting every  mark  of  haste  and  carelessness ; but 
then  it  was  only  behind  the  bush  that  he  was  their 
author.  Baker  having  requested  to  exhibit  them  as 
his  own. 

A question  arises,  from  the  perusal  of  this  letter, 
respecting  the  amatory  inclinations  of  Chatterton. 
His  was  scarcely  a disposition  to  fall  in  love,  though 
he  here  confesses  to  three-and-twenty  flames.  Sparks 
only  they  must  have  been, — not  actual  flames,  with  a 
smoke  to  them.  His  sister  asserts  that,  up  to  the  time 
of  his  apprenticeship,  he  was  remarkably  indifferent  to 
females.  “ One  day,”  she  says,  “ he  was  remarking  to 
me  the  tendency  severe  study  had  to  sour  the  temper, 
and  declared  he  had  always  seen  all  the  sex  with  equal 
indifference,  but  those  that  nature  made  dear.  He 
thought  of  making  an  acquaintance  with  a girl  in  the 
leighbourhood,  supposing  it  might  soften  the  austerity 
vf  temper  study  had  occasioned.  He  wrote  a poem 
to  her,  and  they  commenced  corresponding  acquaint- 
ance.” This  young  lady  was  the  Miss  Kumsey  of  the 
foregoing  letter.  The  writer  continues,  “ He  would 
frequently  walk  the  college  green  with  the  young  girls 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


xlvi 

that  statedly  paraded  there  to  show  their  finery,  but 
I really  believe  he  was  no  debauchee,  (though  some 
have  reported  it.)  The  dear  unhappy  boy  had  faulta 
enough : I saw  with  concern  he  was  proud,  and  exceed- 
ingly imperious ; but  that  of  venality  he  could  not  be 
justly  accused  with.”  Mrs.  Newton  was  no  scholar; 
by  the  word  “ venality,”  she  means  libertinism. 

But  was  he,  indeed,  a libertine  ? Let  us  hear  the 
testimonies  of  his  acquaintance.  “ He  stands  charged,” 
says  Dr.  Gregory,  “ with  a profligate  attachment  to 
women ; the  accusation,  however,  is  stated  in  a vague 
and  desultory  manner,  as  if  from  common  report, 
without  any  direct  or  decided  evidence  in  support  of 
the  opinion.  His  sister  could  not  perhaps  have  pro- 
duced a better  proof  of  his  morality,  than  his  inclina- 
tion to  associate  with  modest  women.” 

Mr.  Thistlethwaite  had  certainly  a good  opportunity 
for  observing  the  course  of  Chatterton’s  conduct.  We 
have  called  in  question  some  of  his  statements ; they 
related  howev9r  to  a period  when  he  was  a mere  child ; 
and  were  of  too  important  a nature  to  be  admissible  on 
such  evidence.  But  at  the  time  for  which  we  are  now 
collecting  references,  he  was  old  enough — being  nearly 
eighteen  months  older  than  Chatterton — to  be  admit- 
ted as  counsel  for  the  prisoner.  He  writes  thus  to 
Dean  Milles : — 

“ It  has  been  said  that  he  was  an  unprincipled  libertine, 
depraved  in  his  mind,  and  profligate  in  his  morals;  whose 
abilities  were  prostituted  to  serve  the  cause  of  vice,  and  whose 
leisure  hours  were  wasted  in  continued  scenes  of  debauchery 
and  obscenity. 

“ I admit  that  amongst  Chatterton’s  papers  may  be  found 
many  passages,  not  only  immoral,  but  bordering  upon  a liber 
tin  ism  gross  and  unpardonable.  It  is  not  my  intention  to 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


xlvii 


Rttrnnpt  a vindication  of  those  passages,  which  for  the  regard 
I bear  his  memory,  I wish  he  had  never  written ; but  which  I 
nevertheless  believe  to  have  originated  rather  from  a warmth 
of  imagination,  aided  by  a vain  affectation  of  singularity,  than 
from  any  natural  depravity,  or  from  a heart  vitiated  by  evil 
example. 

“ The  opportunities  a long  acquaintance  with  him  afforded 
me,  justify  me  in  saying  that  whilst  he  lived  in  Bristol  he  was 
not  the  debauched  character  represented.  Temperate  in  his 
living,  moderate  in  his  pleasures,  and  regular  in  his  exercises, 
he  was  undeserving  of  the  aspersion.  What  change  London 
might  have  effected  in  him  I know  not;  but  from  the  strain  of 
his  letters  to  his  mother  and  sister,  and  his  conduct  towards 
them  after  he  quitted  Bristol,  and  also  from  the  testimony  of 
those  with  whom  he  lodged,  I have  no  doubt  but  the  intem- 
perancies  and  irregularities  laid  to  his  charge  did  either  not 
exist  at  all,  or,  at  the  worst,  are  considerably  aggravated  be- 
yond what  candour  can  approve.” 

When  we  reach  his  London  life,  we  shall  adduce 
evidence  even  more  satisfactory  than  this. 

The  fact  is,  that  Chatterton’s  character  has  been 
blackened  by  every  slanderer  who  could  trace  scurril- 
ous words  upon  paper.  He  was  a kind  of  whipping- 
post for  every  scribbling  apprentice  to  try  his  hand  on  ; 
“ a butt  at  which  every  callow  witling  made  his  proof- 
shot.”  Not  a few  calumniators,  whose  judgment  was 
tested  by  the  conventional  rank  which  they  held  in 
literature,  encouraged  them  to  the  flagellation,  and 
even  dealt  him  a lash  or  two  themselves  sometimes. 
Of  these  persons  more  hereafter. 

In  the  mean  time  how  stands  it  with  this  Bristol 
profligacy  ? All  the  evidence  is  for  the  accused,  and 
the  charge  amounts  to  nothing  more  than  assertion 
without  proof, — nay,  without  the  possibility  of  being 
proved,  or  the  indirectest  limbo  of  a foundation  on 


VOL.  I. 


D 


jLlviii 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


whicli  to  establish  it.  Already  it  disappears,  and, 
shade  like,  while  we  attempt  to  observe  it,  fades  into 
the  impalpablest  aether.  His  writings,  it  is  allowed, 
occasionally  exhibit  a laxity  of  expression,  which  had 
better  been  avoided.  But  even  these  instances  are 
only  in  his  satires,  and  the  satires  too  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  when  Churchill  was  famous,  and  Wilkes* 
‘Essay  on  Woman,*  though  burnt  by  the  common 
hangman,  was  remembered.  Chatterton  was  a youth 
of  strong  and  tumultuous  passions,  which  he  subdued 
by  his  love  of  literature,  and  his  devotion  to  study ; 
small  time  indeed  he  had  for  the  indulgence  of  amatory 
propensities  and  lascivious  inclinations,  who  died  be- 
fore he  was  eighteen,  and  besides  a mass  of  other  pro- 
ductions, left  his  Genesis  of  Rowley  behind  him. 

To  proceed  to  another  subject.  We  have  not  yet 
clearly  seen  how  Chatterton  disposed  of  his  time,  and 
managed  to  economize  it  with  such  success.  Here  his 
sister  lets  us  into  a secret.  He  seldom  slept,  and 
would  even  write  by  moonlight.  “ We  heard  him 
frequently  say  that  he  found  he  studied  best  towards 
the  full  of  the  moon  ; and  would  often  sit  up  all  night 
and  write  hy  moonlight.^* 

To  be  sure,  he  was  all  this  time  at  work  on  the 
Rowley  Poems  : an  engagement  which  not  only  occu- 
pied his  mind,  but  influenced  his  every  day  actions. 
He  would  seldom  eat  animal  food  ; not  like  Byron,  for 
fear  of  getting  fat — but  like  Shelley,  because  he  sup- 
posed it  to  impair  the  intellect.  He  never  tasted  strong 
or  spirituous  liquors,  living  upon  a tart  only,  or  a crust 
of  bread  and  a draught  of  pure  spring  water.  Some- 
times his  mother  would  tempt  him,  when  he  paid  her 
a visit,  with  the  offer  of  a hot  meal,  to  which  he  would 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


XiiX 


reply,  tliat  “he  had  a work  in  hand,  and  must  not 
make  himself  more  stupid  than  God  had  made  him.” 
Few  such  instances  of  temperance,  especially  among 
literary  men,  are  on  record.  Byron  dined,  when  in 
Italy,  on  a biscuit  and  a glass  of  soda-water ; but  he,  we 
repeat,  anticipated  corpulency,  and  shuddered  at  the 
notion  of  a fat  Childe  Harold. 

There  was  in  Lambert’s  office-library,  amongst  a 
heap  of  law  books  possessing  little  interest  to  Chatter- 
ton,  an  old  copy  of  Camden’s  Britannia.  From  a 
bookseller  of  Bristol  he  obtained,  as  a loan,  an  edition 
of  Speght’s  Chaucer,  which  everybody  knows  to  be  in 
black  letter,  and  for  his  own  use,  compiled  from  the 
scanty  glossary  which  is  appended  to  that  work,  a 
counter-glossary,  having  for  its  arrangement,  in  some- 
thing like  alphabetical  order,  so  as  to  be  easy  of  refer- 
ence, the  words  in  modern  English,  with  the  word  cor- 
responding to  each  in  the  antiquated  diction  of  Chaucer. 
The  books,  however,  from  which  he  derived  most  as- 
sistance were  the  English  dictionaries  of  Kersey  and 
Bailey,  from  which  it  has  been  incontestably  proved 
that  nearly  the  whole  of  the  obsolete  words  employed 
in  the  Bowley  poems  were  obtained.  He  had  access 
also  to  the  old  library  at  Bristol,  in  which  were  to  be 
consulted  such  works  as  Holinshed’s  Chronicles,  Geof- 
frey of  Monmouth,  and  Fuller’s  Church  History.  With 
these  at  his  command,  and  the  exhaustless  stores  of  an 
unconquerable  mind  and  an  untiring  energy  to  draw 
from,  the  creation  of  Rowley  proceeded  apace — indeed, 
by  this  time  was  almost  completed. 

In  the  month  of  September,  1768,  a new  bridge  was 
completed  at  Bristol,  superseding  the  old  structure 
that  had  spanned  for  centuries  the  river.  On  the  daj 


I 


LIFE  OF  CHATTEUTON. 


upon  winch  it  was  first  opened  to  the  public  a kind  of 
ceremony  seems  to  have  taken  place,  and  the  thorough- 
fare to  have  been  proclaimed  with  all  due  honours. 
Immediately  afterwards  there  appeared  in  the  weekly 
newspaper  already  alluded  to — Felix  Farley’s  Bristol 
Journal — an  account  of  the  ceremonies  observed  at 
the  opening  of  the  old  bridge,  which  had  just  been  de- 
molished. It  was  accompanied  by  the  following  note 
to  the  printer : — 

Mr.  Printer,* -The  following  description  of  the  Mayor’s 
first  passing  over  the  old  bridge,  taken  from  an  old  Manuscript, 
may  not  [at  this  time]  be  unacceptable,  to  the  generality  of 
your  readers,  Your’s,  &c. 

Dunhelmus  Bristoliensis. 

“ On  Fridaie  was  the  time  fixed  for  passing  the  newe 
Brydge:  Aboute  the  time  of  the  tollynge  the  tenth  Clock, 
Master  Greggorie  Dalbenye  mounted  on  a Fergreyne  Horse, 
enformed  Master  Mayor  all  thyngs  were  prepared ; whan  two 
Beadils  want  fyrst  streyng  fresh  stre,  next  came  a manne 
dressed  up  as  follows — Hose  of  goatskyn,  crinepart  outwards, 
Doublet  and  Waystcoat  also,  over  which  a white  Robe  with- 
out sleeves,  much  like  an  albe,  but  not  so  longe,  reeching  but 
to  his  Lends ; a Girdle  of  Azure  over  his  left  shoulder,  rechde 
also  to  his  Lends  on  the  ryght,  and  doubled  back  to  his  Left, 
bucklyng  with  a Gouldin  Buckel,  dangled  to  his  Knee;  there- 
by representyng  a Saxon  Elderman. — In  his  hande  he  bare  a 
ghield,  the  maystrie  of  Gille  a Brogton,  who  paincted  the 
same,  representyng  Saincte  Warburgh  crossjmge  the  Ford. 
Then  a mickle  strong  Manne,  in  Armour,  carried  a huge  an- 
lace;  after  whom  came  Six  Claryons  and  Six  Minstrels,  who 
sang  the  Song  of  Saincte  Warburgh;  then  came  Master 
Maior,  mounted  on  a white  Horse,  dight  with  sable  trap- 
pyngs,  wrought  about  by  the  Nunnes  of  Saincte  Kenna,  with 
Gould  and  Silver;  his  Hayr  brayded  with  Ribbons,  and  a 
Chaperon,  with  the  auntient  arms  of  Brystowe  fastende  on 
his  Ibrehead.  Master  Maior  bare  in  his  Hande  a gouldin 


LIFE  OF  CIIATTEllTOX. 


li 


Rodde,  and  a congean  pquier  bare  in  his  Hande,  his  Helmet, 
waulking  by  the  Syde  of  the  Horse:  than  came  the  Eldermen 
and  Cittie  Broders  mounted  on  Sable  Horses,  dyght  with 
white  trappyngs  an  Plumes,  and  scarlet  copes  and  Chapeous, 
having  thereon  Sable  Plumes;  after  them,  the  Preests  and 
Freeres,  Parysh,  Mendicaunt  and  Seculor,  some  syngyng 
Saincto  Warburgh’s  song,  others  soundyng  clarions  thereto, 
and  otherssome  Citrialles.  In  thilk  manner  reechyng  the 
Brydge,  the  Manne  with  the  Anlace  stode  on  the  fyrst  Top  of 
a Mound,  yreed  in  the  midst  of  the  Bridge;  then  want  up  the 
Manne  with  the  Sheelde,  after  him  the  Ministrels  and  Cla- 
rions. And  then  the  Preestes  and  Freeres,  all  in  white  Albs, 
inakyng  a most  goodlie  Shewe;  the  Maior  and  Eldermen 
Btandyng  round,  theie  sang,  with  the  sound  of  Clarions,  the 
Song  of  Saincte  Baldwyn ; which  beyng  done,  the  Manne  on 
the  Top  threwe  with  greet  myght  his  Anlace  into  the  see,  and 
the  Clarions  sounded  an  auntiant  Charge  and  Forloyn:  Then 
theie  sang  againe  the  songe  of  Siiincte  Warburgh,  and  pro- 
ceeded up  Chrysts  hill,  to  the  cross,  where  a Latin  Sermon 
was  preeched  by  Ralph  de  Blundeville.  And  with  sound  of 
Clarion  theie  agayne  went  to  the  Brydge,  and  there  dined, 
spendyng  the  rest  of  the  daie  in  Sportes  and  Plaies,  the  Freers 
of  Saincte  Augustine  doeyng  the  Plaie  of  the  Knyghtes  of 
Bristowe,  and  makynge  a great  fire  at  night  on  Kynwulph 
Hyll.i 

Such  a singular  document  produced  at  so  critical 
A moment  could  scarcely  fall  to  awaken  curiosity, 
especially  among  the  amateurs  of  that  half-literary 

t In  this  small  document,  as  carelessly  printed  by  Southey 
and  Dix,  there  are  no  less  than  280  mistakes,  many  of  which 
are  of  considerable  importance.  The  original  MS.  in  Chat- 
terton’s  handwriting  is  preserved  in  the  British  Museum.  It 
is  there  called  “ The  description  of  the  Mayor’s  passing  over 
the  Bridge,”  and  not  the  ‘ Fryars,’  as  hitherto  printed.  So 
likewise  in  Farley’s  Journal,  with  which  the  MS.  has  been 
carefully  collated. 


iii 


LIFE  OF  CHATIERTON. 


Bristol  city.  The  Journal  office  was  besieged.  Where 
was  the  original  manuscript  ? who  was  the  transcriber? 
who  the  fortunate  discoverer  ? where  too  was  it  dis- 
covered ? amongst  what  cobwebs  had  it  reposed  for 
centuries  ? and  what  spiders  had  spun  the  cobwebs  ? 
Rapidly  the  interesting  number  was  bought  up ; the 
description  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth,  intersecting 
broadways  and  bye-lanes,  while  the  real  author — ^the 
ex-charity  boy — young  Thomas  Chatterton,  sat  silently 
laughing  in  his  sleeve,  upon  his  stool  in  Mr.  Lambert’s 
office. 

To  the  disappointment  of  the  soi-disant  antiqua- 
rians, no  satisfactory  answer  could  be  obtained  to  the 
numerous  questions  they  propounded.  There  was  the 
document,  plain  enough,  and  written  in  a small,  neat, 
not  un-lawyer-like  looking  hand;  but  to  whom  that 
harid  belonged,  or  who  Dunhelmus  Bristoliensis  was, 
was  more  than  Mr.  Farley  or  any  of  his  devils  could 
discover. 

Encouraged  by  his  success,  however,  Chatterton 
soon  presented  another  paper  for  insertion,  and  was 
immediately  recognized  as  the  individual  on  whose 
account  so  much  clamour  had  been  raised.  The  alarm 
was  sounded ; the  citizens  hastened  to  the  office ; the 
musty  original  was  of  course  demanded,  only — as  they 
said — for  inspection. 

Now  Chatterton  at  this  time  was  little  more  than  a 
child,  and  as  such  they  treated  him.  He  was  assailed 
with  threats,  to  which  he  retaliated  with  haughtiness, 
aud  flatly  refused  to  give  any  account.  Finding  him 
invincible,  they  assumed  another  tone ; spoke  to  him 
in  a gentle  manner,  talked  of  patronage  and  assistance, 
and  at  last  fairly  won  him  over.  He  stated  that  he 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


liii 


Jvas  employed  to  transcribe  the  contents  of  certain 
ancient  manuscripts  by  a gentleman,  who  alsc  had  en- 
gaged him  to  furnish  complimentary  verses,  inscribed 
to  a lady  with  whom  that  gentleman  was  in  love.  This, 
of  course,  was  an  extempore  invention,  fabricated  on 
the  spot.  It  agrees,  however,  with  what  we  have  seen 
was  really  the  case — an  engagement  which  he  was 
under  to  his  friend  leaker  of  Charlestown,  to  supply 
him  with  poems  of  that  nature.  Perhaps,  as  the  first 
thought  that  entered  his  head,  he  caught  at  it  on  the 
spur  of  the  necessity.  Be  it  as  it  may,  it  was  not 
deemed  sufficiently  satisfactory  by  his  judges. 

He  next  asserted  that  the  original  document  was 
one  of  many  ancient  manuscripts  in  his  possession, 
which  had  formerly  belonged  to  his  father,  who  had 
obtained  them  from  a large  chest  in  the  muniment 
room  of  RedclifFe  church.  This  information,  we  must 
suppose,  was  considered  authentic,  as  no  doubts  appear 
to  have  been  expressed.  It  is  rather  singular,  however, 
that  an  inspection  of  these  manuscripts  was  not  im- 
mediately demanded  ; and,  considering  the  man.Tifer  in 
which,  according  to  Chatterton’s  statement,  his  father 
possessed  himself  of  them,  carrying  them  away  without 
leave  asked  or  given,  that  some  compulsion  was  not 
used  to  make  the  boy  restore  them.  What  was  the 
behaviour  of  the  parties  on  the  occasion  is  buried  in 
the  uncertainty  of  time. 

The  real  origin  of  the  manuscript  will  be  best 
ascertained  from  the  following  statement  sent  to  Dean 
Milles,  by  a Mr.  Rudhall,  an  early  friend  of  Chatter- 
fon : — 


Mr.  John  Rudhall,  a native  and  inhabitant  of  Bristol,  and 


iiv 


LIFE  OF  CHATTEKTON. 


formerly  apprentice  to  Mr.  Francis  Gresley,  an  apothecary 
in  that  city,  was  well  acquainted  with  Chatterton  whilst  Be 
was  apprenticed  to  Mr.  Lambert;  during  that  time  Chatterton 
frequently  called  upon  him  at  his  master’s  house,  and  soon 
after  he  had  printed  the  account  of  the  bridge  in  the  Bristol 
paper,  told  Mr.  Rudhall  that  he  was  the  author  of  it;  but  it 
occurring  to  him  afterwards  that  he  might  be  called  upon  to 
produce  the  original,  he  brought  to  him  one  day  a piece  of 
parchment  about  the  size  of  a half-sheet  of  foolscap  paper; 
Mr.  Rudhall  does  not  think  that  any  thing  was  written  on  it 
when  produced  by  Chatterton,  but  he  saw  him  write  several 
words,  if  not  lines,  in  a character  which  Mr.  Rudhall  did  not 
understand;  which,  he  says,  was  totally  unlike  English,  and, 
as  he  apprehended,  was  meant  by  Chatterton  to  imitate  or 
represent  the  original  from  which  this  account  was  printed. 
He  cannot  determine  precisely  how  much  Chatterton  wrote 
in  this  manner,  but  says,  that  the  time  he  spent  in  that  visit 
did  not  exceed  three  quarters  of  an  hour;  the  size  of  the 
parchment,  however,  (even  supposing  it  to  have  been  filled 
with  writing,)  will  in  some  measure  ascertain  the  quantity 
which  it  contained.  He  says  also  that  when  Chatterton  had 
written  on  the  parchment,  he  held  it  over  the  candle,  to  give 
it  the  appearance  of  antiquity,  which  changed  the  colour  of  the 
ink,  and  made  the  parchment  appear  black  and  contracted;  ho 
never  saw  him  make  any  similar  attempt,  nor  was  the  parch- 
ment produced  afterwards  by  Chatterton  to  him,  or  (as  far  as 
he  knows)  to  any  other  person.  Mr.  Rudhall  had  promised 
Chatterton  not  to  reveal  this  secret,  and  he  scrupulously  kept 
his  word  till  the  year  1779;  but,  on  the  prospect  of  procuring 
a gratuity  of  ten  pounds  for  Chatterton’ s mother,  from  a gen- 
tleman who  came  to  Bristol  in  order  to  collect  information 
vToncerning  her  son’s  history,  he  thought  so  material  a benefit 
to  the  family  would  fully  justify  him  for  divulging  a secret 
by  which  no  person  now  living  could  be  a sufferer.” 


LIFE  OF  CHATTEKTON. 


Iv 


V. 

Fs  introduced  to  Messrs,  Catcott  and  Barrett^  and  is  of 
great  service  to  the  latter  gentleman  in  his  projected 
“ History  of  Bristol” 

Very  soon  after  the  description  of  the  Mayor’s 
passing  over  the  old  bridge  appeared  in  Farlefs 
Journal^  as  Mr.  Catcott  of  Bristol,  partner  to  Mr.  Bur- 
gum  the  pewterer,  of  pedigree  memory,  was  walking 
with  a friend  in  Kedcliife  church,  he  was  informed  by 
him  of  several  ancient  pieces  of  poetry,  lately  discov- 
ered there,  and  which  were  in  the  possession  of  an  ex- 
traordinary young  man  with  whom  he  was  acquainted. 
Mr.  Catcott  is  described  by  those  who  knew  him  to 
have  been  fond  of  study  and  attached  to  literary  pur- 
suits. He  had  been  the  first  to  inquire  at  Farley’s 
office  respecting  the  communication  of  the  old-bridge 
document,  and  had  evinced  a lively  interest  in  the 
whole  affair.  Struck  with  his  friend’s  information,  he 
desired  an  introduction  to  the  young  man,  whose  turn 
of  mind  appeared  so  congenial  to  his  own,  and  who 
proved,  of  course,  to  be  the  youth  he  had  anticipated 
— Thomas  Chatterton. 

With  this  gentleman  our  friend  is  disposed  to  be 
somewhat  communicative.  He  gives  him  a copy  of 
the  Bristowe  Tragedy,  Bowley’s  Epitaph  upon  Can- 
ynge’s  Ancestor,  and  other  smaller  pieces.  In  a few 
days  afterwards  he  gives  him  the  yellow  Roll,  About 
this  period  Mr.  Barrett,  a surgeon  of  Bristol,  and  a 
man  of  great  respectability,  has  undertaken  to  publish 
a history  of  Bristol,  and  is  anxiously  collecting  mate- 
rials for  tliat  work.  His  friends,  eager  to  procure  him 


Ivi 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


intelligence,  fail  not  to  apprise ‘him  of  the  treasure 
of  ancient  poems  and  other  manuscripts  relative  to 
Bristol,  which  have  been  discovered  in  the  oaken  re- 
pository in  Redcliffe  church.  Mr.  Catcott  hastens, 
specimens  in  hand,  to  his  study.  The  poems  are 
examined,  pronounced  authentic,  and  Chatterton  is 
introduced  to  the  believing  historian,  whom  he  imme- 
diately supplies,  not  only  with  poems,  but  with  ma- 
terials of  the  utmost  value  for  his  own  work.  It  is 
Mr.  Barrett’s  purpose  to  collect  information  on  the 
subject  of  the  churches  and  public  edifices  of  Bristol. 
Chatterton  undertakes  to  examine  the  papers  of  Row- 
ley  for  that  purpose,  and  in  a few  days  brings  him  a 
true  and  particular  account  of  the  ancient  churches 
of  Bristol,  which  formerly  occupied  the  sites  of  the 
existing  structures.  The  historian  entertains  no  doubt 
of  the  authenticity  of  the  documents,  rewards  his 
young  friend  with  a sum  of  money ; and  Chatterton, 
more  elated  than  ever,  goes  off  to  coin  his  brain  afresh^ 
and  invent,  not  only  churches,  but  castles,  and  even 
palaces.  We  will  give  the  reader  a specimen.  It  is 
from  what  he  entitles  “ Turgot’s  Account  of  Bristol, 
translated  by  T.  Rowley  out  of  Saxon  into  English,” 
and  is  to  be  found  in  p.  31  of  Barrett’s  History  of  Bristol. 


“ Sect.  ii.  of  Turgotus. — Strange  as  it  maie  seem  that 
there  were  Walles  to  Radclefte,  yet  fulle  true  ytte  is,  beynge 
the  Walles  of  Brightrycus  pallace,  and  in  owre  daies  remain- 
ethe  there  a small  piece  neie  Eselwynnes  Towre.  I conceive 
not  it  coulde  be  square,  tho  Tradytyon  so  saieth:  the  Inhabi- 
ters  wythyn  the  Walle  had  ryghte  of  Tolle  on  the  Ryvers 
Severne  and  a part  of  Avon.  Thus  much  of  Radclefte 
Walles.  Sect.  hi.  of  Turgotus. — No  we  to  speake  of 
Bryght^jtowe,  yttes  Walles  and  Castelle  beynge  the  fayres^ 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Ivii 


buyldinge,  of  ytte  I shalle  speake  fyrste.  The  piyncipall 
Streets  meete  in  forme  of  a Cross,  and  is  a goode  patterne 
for  the  Cityes  of  Chrystyannes.  Brightricus  fyrst  ybuylden 
the  VValles  in  fashyon  allmoste  Square  wythe  four  Gates: 
Elle  Gate,  Baldwynnes  or  Leonardos  Gate,  Froome  or  the 
Water  Gate,  and  Nycholas  or  Wareburgha’s.” — &c.  &c.  &c. 

And  from  time  to  time  does  he  furnish  Mr.  Barrett 
with  similar  documents ; of  such  magnitude,  moreover, 
that  as  he  does  not  hesitate  to  publish  them,  they  occupy 
no  inconsiderable  portion  of  his  large  quarto  volume,  a 
work  otherwise  of  considerable  value  and  research. 

But  what  are  we  to  say  to  all  this — this  duping  and 
deceiving,  this  inventing  of  pedigrees  and  histories  ? 
The  fabrication  of  the  poems,  the  mere  poems  of  Row- 
ley,  must  be  forgiven  him.  No  one  Avas  injured,  no 
one  was  defrauded.  “ It  must,  indeed,”  says  Thomas 
Campbell,  “ be  pronounced  improper  by  the  general 
law  which  condemns  all  falsifications  of  history  ; but  it 
deprived  no  man  of  his  fame ; it  had  no  sacrilegious 
interference  with  the  memory  of  departed  genius ; it 
had  not,  like  Lauder’s  imposture,  any  malignant  motive, 
to  rob  a party  or  a country  of  a name  which  was  its 
pride  and  ornament.”  Sir  Walter  Scott’s  testimony 
is  scarcely  so  favourable.  “ I fear,”  he  says,  “ the 
original  source  of  the  inconsistencies  of  Chatterton’s 
conduct  and  character  was  in  that  inequality  of  spirit 
with  which  Providence,  as  in  mockery  of  the  most 
splendid  gifts  of  genius  and  fancy,  has  often  conjoined 
them.  This  strange  disorder  of  the  mind,  often  con- 
founded by  the  vulgar  with  actual  insanity,  of  which 
perhaps  it  is  a remote  shade,  is  fostered  by  the  work- 
ings of  an  ardent  imagination,  as  it  is  checked  and 
iubdued  by  mathematical  or  philosophical  research  J 


Iviii 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


cannot  regard  the  imposture  as  of  an  indifferent  or 
harmless  nature.”  Southey,  on  the  contrary,  expresses 
it  as  his  opinion,  that  “the  deception  might  most 
assuredly  have  been  begun  and  continued  without  the 
slightest  sense  of  criminality  in  Chatterton.”  And  a 
writer  in  the  Edinburgh  Review  remarks,  “ The  pre- 
tended antiquity  of  his  poems  has  been  denounced  as 
a crime  against  truth,  with  all  the  solemnity  with  which 
Ananias’s  lie  is  quoted  from  Scripture.  The  word  ‘ for- 
j gery  ’ does  not  apply  to  such  an  innocent  deception.” 
“ Posterity,”  Mr.  Britton  feelingly  observes,  “ may  be 
excused,  if,  forgetting  his  errors  in  the  contemplation 
of  his  neglected  state  and  youthful  sorrows,  it  speak 
only  of  his  genius.”  Nor  must  we,  though  we  have 
already  cited  him,  forget  the  peroration  of  Campbell : 
“ When  we  conceive  the  inspired  boy  transporting 
himself  in  imagination  back  to  the  days  of  his  fictitious 
Rowley,  embodying  his  ideal  character,  and  giving  to 
‘ airy  nothing  a local  habitation  and  a name,’  we  may 
forget  the  impostor  in  the  enthusiast,  and  forgive  the 
falsehood  of  his  reverie  for  its  beauty  and  ingenuity.  ’ 

But  a wide  difference  between  the  pseudo-poet  and 
the  pretended  historian.  Heartily,  for  the  fair  fame 
of  Thomas  Chatterton,  is  it  to  be  wished  that  he  had 
never  met  with  Barrett,  or  that  Barrett,  as  he  after- 
wards did,  had  offended  him  at  the  first  outset.  The 
Burgum  pedigree,  also,  though  innocent  comparatively 
— as  it  duped  only  a silly,  ostentatious  individual — with 
this  fabrication  and  falsification  of  history  for  pecuniary 
motives,  is  too  serious  a deception  to  be  passed  silently 
over.  But  let  us  be  sparing  of  blame,  at  least,  till  we 
have  rightly  unravelled  the  mysteries  of  his  character. 

This  introduction  to  Catcott  and  Barrett  seems  to 


LIFE  OF  CIIATTEKTON. 


lix 


have  elevated  Chatterton  in  his  own  importance,  llis 
■jiister^s  testimony  is  : — 

“ He  would  often  speak  in  great  raptures  of  the  undoubted 
success  of  his  plan  for  future  life.  His  ambition  increased 
daily.  His  spirits  were  rather  uneven,  sometimes  so  gloomed 
that  for  days  together  he  would  say  but  very  little,  and  ap- 
parently by  constraint;  at  other  times  exceedingly  cheerful. 
When  in  spirits  he  would  enjoy  his  rising  fame:  confident  of 
advancement,  he  would  promise  my  mother  and  me  should 
be  partakers  of  his  success.  Mr.  Barrett  lent  him  many 
books  on  surgery,  and  I believe  he  bought  many  more,  as  I 
remember  to  have  packed  them  up  to  send  to  him  when  in 
London,  and  no  demand  was  ever  made  for  them.  About 
this  time  he  wrote  several  satirical  poems.  He  began  to  bo 
universally  known  among  the  young  men.  He  had  many 
cap  acquaintances,  but  I am  confident  but  few  intimates.” 

For  some  time  he  continued  to  be  very  communi- 
cative on  the  subject  of  Howley.  “ He  was  always,” 
says  Mr.  Smith,  one  of  his  intimate  companions,  “ ex- 
tremely fond  of  Tvalking  in  the  fields,  particularly  in 
Kedcliffe  meadows,  and  of  talking  about  these  manu- 
scripts, and  sometimes  reading  them  there.  ‘ Come, 
(he  would  say,)  you  and  I will  take  a walk  in  the 
meadow ; I have  got  the  cleverest  thing  for  you  imag- 
inable— it  is  worth  half-a-crown  merely  to  have  a sight 
of  it,  and  to  hear  me  read  it  to  you.’  When  we  ar- 
rived at  the  place  proposed,  he  would  produce  his 
parchment,  show  it  me  and  read  it  to  me.  There  was 
one  spot  in  particular,  full  in  view  of  the  church,  in 
which  he  seemed  to  take  a peculiar  delight.  He  would 
frequently  lay  himself  down,  fix  his  eyes  upon  the 
church,  and  seem  as  if  he  were  in  a kind  of  trance. 
Then  on  a sudden,  and  abruptly,  he  would  tell  me, 
That  steeple  was  burnt  down  by  lightning  : that  was 


lx 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


tlio  place  where  they  formerly  acted  plays.’  ^ Ills 
Sundays  were  commonly  spent  in  walkiiig  alone  into 


1 It  is  remarkable  that  in  the  course  of  the  evidence  af- 
forded by  Mr.  Smith,  there  is  mention  made  of  Redcliffe 
church  spire  being  destroyed  by  lightning.  But  how  could 
either  Mr.  Smith  or  Chatterton  have  been  apprised  of  this, 
as  there  was  no  history  nor  any  known  record  concerning  such 
an  event  V It  is  true  that  since  the  death  of  the  latter,  there 
has  been  a publication,  by  Mr.  Nasmith,  of  William  of  Wor- 
cestre;  this  came  out  in  the  year  1778,  and  we  find  the  fact 
there  mentioned.  ‘ Latitude  (lege  altitude)  Turris  de  Rad- 
clyfe  continet  300  pedes:  de  quibus  100  pedes  sunt  per  ful- 
men  dejecti.’  p.  120.  As  the  only  history  in  which  this  is 
mentioned  came  out  after  the  death  of  Chatterton,  he  could 
not  have  his  intelligence  from  hence,  but  it  must  have  come 
from  one  of  the  manuscripts  of  Rowley.  Rowley  must  have 
been  in  some  degree  an  eye-witness  of  the  event ; but  Chat- 
terton had  no  history  of  it,  no  record  excepting  what  must 
have  come  from  Rowley.  He  could  not  have  mentioned  it 
without  some  previous  intimation  from  that  quarter;  for  tio 
account  was  elsewhere  to  be  had. — Bryant’s  Observations. 

Mr.  Bryant  was  not  aware  that  in  the  parlour  of  a person 
residing  in  Bristol,  a Mr.  Katar,  whom  Chatterton  used  U) 
visit.,  hung  a print  of  St.  Mary  Redcliffe  church,  engraved  by 
Toms  from  a drawing  by  William  Halfpenny,  and  published 
in  the  year  1746,  seven  years  before  Chatterton’s  birth,  un- 
derneath which  is  the  following  inscription:  “This  church 
was  founded  by  Simon  de  Burton,  merchant,  in  y«  22nd  year 
of  y®  reign  of  King  Edward  y®  first.  In  the  year  1446,  the 
steeple  of  the  said  church  was  blown  down  in  a great  storm 
of  thunder  and  lightning,  w«^»  did  much  damage  to  the  same, 
but  was  by  Mr.  Wm.  Canynge,  a worthy  merchant,  wt»»  the 
assistance  of  diverse  other  wealthy  inhabitants,  at  a great 
{Expense,  new  covered,  glazed,  and  repaired.”  &c.  &c. — Pub- 
l^hed  May.,  1746,  by  Benjamin  Hickey,  Bristol. — A more 
detailed  account  of  this  engraving  will  be  found  in  Dix’s 
k>\f^  Chatterton,  p.  44. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Ixi 


the  country  about  Bristol,  as  far  as  the  duration  of  day- 
light would  allow ; and  from  these  excursions  he  never 
failed  to  bring  home  with  him  drawings  of  churches,  or 
of  some  other  objects  which  had  impressed  his  roman- 
tic imagination.” 

The  repeated  sums  of  money  which  he  obtained 
from  Messrs.  Catcott  and  Barrett  enabled  him  to  have 
frequent  recourse  to  his  old  friends,  the  circulating 
libraries.  From  those  gentlemen,  too,  he  procured 
several  volumes  ; from  Mr.  Barrett  especially,  many  on 
surgery.  He  became  a frequent  purchaser  moreover, 
as  he  acknowledges  in  his  “ will ; ” but  discontented 
with  the  amount  of  the  sums  bestowed  on  him,  he  is 
said  to  have  exclaimed  against  the  parsimony  of  his 
patrons,  who  ‘ dribbled  ’ their  rewards  in  shillings  and 
half-crowns. 

Indeed,  neither  Catcott  nor  Barrett  seem  to  have 
been  regarded  by  him  with  deference.  The  reader 
of  his  Acknowledged  Poems  will  remember  numerous 
instances  in  which  the  former  gentleman  falls  under 
his  lash.  But,  when  “ the  fit  ” was  on  him,  that  he 
“ spared  neither  friend  nor  foe,”  was  his  own  confes- 
sion. Perhaps  his  sincere  opinion  of  them  both  is  to 
be  found  in  the  following  lines  of  his  “ last  Will  and 
Testament : ” — 

“ Catcott,  for  thee,  I know  thy  heart  is  good, 

But,  ah!  thy  merit’s  seldom  understood: 

Too  bigoted  to  whimsies,  which  thy  youth 
Receiv’d  to  venerate  as  Gospel  truth. 

Thy  friendship  never  could  be  dear  to  me; 

Since  all  I am  is  opposite  to  thee. 

If  ever  obligated  to  thy  purse, 

Rowley  discharges  all — my  first  chief  curse  I 


Ixii 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


For  hsid  I never  known  the  antique  lore, 

I ne’er  had  ventur’d  from  my  peaceful  shore, 

To  be  the  wreck  of  promises  and  hopes, 

A Boy  of  Learning,  and  a Bard  of  Tropes; 

But  happy  in  my  humble  sphere  had  moved, 
Untroubled,  unsuspected,  unbelov’d. 

To  Barrett  next,  he  has  my  thanks  sincere, 

For  all  the  little  knowledge  I had  here. 

But  what  was  knowledge  ? Could  it  here  succeed, 
When  scarcely  twenty  in  the  town  can  read? 

Could  knowledge  bring  in  interest  to  maintain 
The  wild  expenses  of  a poet’s  brain? 

I thank  thee,  Barrett — thy  advice  was  right. 

But  ’twas  ordained  by  fate  that  I should  write. 

Spite  of  the  prudence  of  this  prudent  place, 

I wrote  my  mind,  nor  hid  the  author’s  face.” 

It  is  certain,  at  the  time  when  Mr.  Catcott  first  became 
acquainted  with  Chatterton,  that  the  works  now  known 
as  the  Kowley  poems  were  either  in  existence,  or 
were  so  far  matured  in  Chatterton’s  mind  as  to  enable 
him  to  speak  confidently  of  them.  During  the  first 
conversation  which  Mr.  Catcott  held  with  him,  he 
enumerated  the  titles  of  most  of  the  poems  which 
afterwards  appeared.  He  confessed,  moreover,  that 
he  had  destroyed  several;  and  a nearly  completed 
tragedy,  called  “ The  Apostate,”  was  seen  by  Mr.  Cat- 
cott, but  is  now  nowhere  to  be  found.  To  this  produc- 
tion Mr.  Bryant  makes  allusion  in  his  ‘ Observations.’ 
“ The  subject  of  it,”  he  tells  us,  “ was  the  apostatizing 
of  a person  from  the  Christian  to  the  Jewish  faith.” 
“A  small  part,”  says  Dr.  Gregory,  “ has  been  preserved 
by  Mr.  Barrett ; ” and  a writer  so  late  as  1835  asserts 
that  a portion  of  it  was  printed  by  that  gentleman  in 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Ixiil 


Ids  History  of  Bristol.  Four  lines  only,  in  a note  to 
the  “ Parliament  of  Sprytes.”  It  may,  however,  turn 
up  some  day,  if  not  actually  destroyed. 

Whether  he  was  offended  by  the  repeated  examina- 
tions, to  which  he  was  subjected,  on  the  score  of  the 
original  parchments,  and  the  multiplied  entreaties  that 
be  would  produce  them,  or  whether  he  was  disgusted 
with  the  paltry  sums  with  which  his  patrons  requited 
his  services,  is  uncertain ; but  he  soon  became  suspi- 
cious and  reserved,  made  fewer  communications  on  the 
subject,  and  exhibited  no  more  parchments,  or  frag- 
ments of  Rowley’s  handwriting. 

In  the  mean  time  his  peculiarities  were  remarked 
by  all  who  were  thrown  into  contact  with  him.  His 
pride  was  excessive.  For  days  together  he  would 
scarcely  utter  a word.  He  would  enter  and  quit  his 
master’s  house  without  deigning  to  address  a single 
inmate ; would  occupy  his  stool  at  the  office  in  rigid 
silence,  noticing  the  observations  of  his  fellow-clerks 
only  with  a supercilious,  sarcastic  smile  of  contempt. 

It  was  the  general  impression  that  he  was  going 
mad.  His  fits  of  absence  were  remarkable.  “ He 
would  often  look  stedfastly  in  a person’s  face  without 
speaking,  or  seeming  to  see  the  person,  for  a quarter 
of  an  hour  or  more.”  So  says  one  of  his  companions ; 
but  perhaps  for  a quarter  of  an  hour  we  should  read 
five  minutes.  Some  considered  him  dull,  stupid,  and 
sullen. Yet  Dr.  Gregory  asserts  that  “his  pride, 

1 What  was  supposed  to  be  dulness  in  Chatterton  was 
genius.  I'he  symptoms  of  talent  were  misconstrued  by  his 
contemporaries.  They  were  disgusted  with  his  pride,  which 
was  a consciousness  of  preeminence  of  abilities.  Mr.  Capel, 
a brother  apprentice  in  the  same  house  with  Chatterton, 

VOL.  I.  E 


Ixlv  LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 

wliidi  perhaps  should  rather  be  termed  the  strong  con 
BcioLisness  of  intellectual  excellence,  did  not  destroy 
liis  affability.  He  was  always  accessible^  and  rathei 
forward  to  make  acquaintance  than  apt  to  decline  the 
advances  of  others.  There  is  reason  however  to  be- 
lieve,” he  continues,  “ that  the  inequality  of  his  spirits 
affected  greatly  his  behaviour  in  company.” 

There  is  extant  a curious  document  in  Chatter- 
ton’s  handwriting,  which  there  is  ground  for  supposing 
he  actually  sent  to  Mr.  Catcott,  with  a view  of  extort- 
ing money  from  him.  Before  we  pass  judgment  upon 
it,  however,  we  should  remember  that  Chatterton  had 
presented  that  gentleman  with  the  most  valuable  pro- 
ductions of  his  pen,  and  that  they  were  received  and 
treasured  by  him  as  “ a creation  from  the  old  ages.” 
We  must  further  remember  that  he  afterwards  dis- 
posed of  them  to  Messrs.  Payne  and  Co.,  the  London 

relates  that  there  was  “ generally  a dreariness  in  his  look,  and 
a wildness  attended  with  a visible  contempt  for  others.” 
The  silence,  the  solitude  of  this  visionary  boy,  his  eccentric 
habits,  his  singularities  of  behaviour,  were  not  attributed  to 
the  true  cause.  His  fits  of  melancholy  were  mistaken  for 
Bullenness.  An  old  female  relation,  who  undoubtedly  thought 
him  mad,  has  reported  that  “he  talked  very  little,  was  very 
absent  in  company,  and  used  very  often  to  walk  by  the  river 
side,  talking  to  himself  and  flourishing  his  arms  about.”  He 
despised  discretion,  a virtue  allied  to  many  meannesses;  and 
in  the  place  of  worldly  prudence,  attention  to  proposals  of 
economy,  and  a regular  profession,  substituted  his  anticipa^ 
tions  of  immortality.  He  scorned  subsistence,  but  what  hia 
own  poetry  could  alone  confer.  Silent  and  unsuspected,  he 
was  now  soliciting  the  mu.^e  in  secret.  At  the  hours  allotted 
him  to  play,  we  are  told  that  he  constantly  retired  to  read. 
This  was  the  young  Edwin  who  forged  Rowley’s  Poems.— 
Wart  >N. 


LIFE  OF  CIIATTERTON. 


Ixv 

booksellers,  for  fifty  pounds ; so  that  he  might  have 
liquidated  the  debt,  and  obtained  “ the  executors  ” 
receipt  in  full,  without  doing  himself  any  violent  injury 
or  injustice. 

‘ Mr.  G.  Catcott 

To  the  Exors.  of  T.  Rowley. 

‘ To  pleasure  rec^^  in  read?  his  I £5  5 q 
Historic  Works  . • ) 

his  Poetic  works  . £5  6 0 


£10  10  0 


There  is  some  levity  in  this,  but  it  may  easily  be 
pardoned — “the  labourer  is  worthy  of  his  hire,” — and 
the  sum  after  all  is  not  so  very  exorbitant.  But  Mr. 
Catcott  determined  otherwise,  and  allowed  the  account 
to  ‘ stand  over.’ 

In  the  mean  time  he  was  not  indolent,  but,  as  we 
might  say,  was  rather  actively  employed.  Mr.  This- 
tlethwaite  has  drawn  a vivid  picture  of  his  engage- 
ments and  pursuits  at  this  period. 

“ One  day  he  might  be  found  busily  employed  in  the  study 
of  heraldry  and  English  antiquiti3s;  the  next  discovered  him 
deeply  engaged,  confounded  and  perplexed  amidst  the  subtle- 
ties of  metaphysical  disquisition,  or  lost  and  bewildered  in  the 
abstruse  labyrinth  of  mathematical  researches;  and  these  in 
an  instant  again  neglected  and  thrown  aside  to  make  room  for 
music  and  astronomy,  of  both  which  sciences  his  knowledge 
was  entirely  confined  to  theory.  Even  physic  was  not  with- 
out a charm  to  allure  his  imagination,  and  he  would  talk  of 
Galen,  Hippocrates,  and  Paracelsus,  with  all  the  confidence 
and  familiarity  of  a modern  empiric.” 

He  ifiust  needs  learn  Latin,  moreover.  He  had 


»XV1 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


borrowed  from  Mr.  Barrett's  library,  Benson's  Saxon 
Vocabulary,  and  Skinner's  Etymologicon  Anglicanae, 
of  which  the  interpretations  are  in  Latin,  and  were 
consequently  unintelligible  to  the  Bristol  charity-boy. 
But  being  dissuaded  from  the  attempt  by  one  of  his 
friends,  on  account  of  the  alleged  difficulty  of  ac- 
quiring, by  self-instruction  only,  any  thing  like  a 
competent  knowledge  of  that  language ; at  the  recom- 
mendation of  the  same  friend  he  devoted  himself  for  a 
few  days  to  French,  which  he  then,  with  his  usual 
versatility,  abandoned.  The  Benson  and  Skinner  were 
returned  to  Mr.  Barrett  with  an  expression  of  disap- 
pointment ; and  Kersey  and  Bailey,  more  suitable  for 
his  purposes,  were  applied  to  with  greater  diligence 
than  ever. 

Through  Mr.  George  Catcott  he  obtained  an  intro- 
duction to  his  brothel,  the  Bev.  Alexander  Catcott,  an 
acquaintance  the  young  bard  was  very  vain  of.  In- 
deed, he  would  fain  have  persuaded  his  associates  that 
he  was  so  necessary  an  assistant  to  the  clergyman's 
pursuits — which  were  something  in  his  own  line — that 
he  could  not  be  dispensed  with  ; and  he  made  it  a boast, 
that  he  had  access  whenever  he  pleased  to  the  parson's 
study.  Chatterton  sometimes  shot  with  the  long  bow, 
and  he  is  said  to  have  done  so  when  he  made  this 
assertion.  They  got  on  very  well,  however,  and  were 
very  good  friends,  though  their  friendship  did  not  pre- 
vent the  shafts  of  Chatterton's  ridicule  from  aiming  at 
his  reverend  patron,  and  making  somewhat  too  free 
with  his  name.  But  he  made  him  amends,  and  even 
gpoke  of  him  at  other  times  with  fondness.  Mr.  Cat. 
cott  had  written  a work  to  prove  the  truth  of  the  scrip- 
tural account  of  the  Deluge.  Numerous  are  the  hits 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Ixvii 


Rt  that  performance  which  are  scattered  through  Chat- 
terton’s  satires.  In  his  “Kew  Gardens”  he  is  more 
than  usually  tolerant : 

If  Catcott’s  flimsy  system  can’t  be  prov’d, 

Let  it  alone,  for  Catcott’s  much  belov’d. 

And  the  apology  in  his  ‘ Will,’  is,  as  Dr.  Gregory  ol> 
serves,  “ the  best  recompense  he  had  in  his  power  to 
make.” 

“ I leave  the  Reverend  Mr.  Catcott  some  little  of  my  free- 
thinking,  that  he  may  put  on  spectacles  of  reason,  and  see 
how  vilely  he  is  duped  in  believing  the  Scriptures  literally. 
I wish  he  and  his  brother  George  would  know  how  far  I am 
their  real  enamy^but  Ihave  an  unlucky 'way  of  raillery^  and 
when  the  strong  fit  of  satire  is  upon  me  I spare  neither  ftdend 
nor  foe.  This  is  my  excuse  for  what  I have  said  of  them 
elsewhere.” 

“We  hardly  know  whether  to  laugh  or  grieve,” 
remarks  Sir  Walter  Scott,  “ when  Chatterton  re- 
proaches Catcott,  down  whose  throat  he  had  crammed 
the  improbable  tale  of  Rowley,  with  gross  credulity  be- 
cause he  was  a believer  in  revelation.” 

Before  we  take  leave  of  these  gentlemen,  one  cir- 
cumstance must  be  mentioned.  George  Catcott,  as 
before  stated,  was  a pewterer  by  trade,  and  partner 
to  Burgum,  the  man  of  pedigree  notoriety,  ‘ a presump- 
tuous, vulgar,  ignorant  fellow,  who  boasted  of  his  an- 
cestry.’ Will  the  reader  pardon  Chatterton  his  im- 
pudent but  amusing  hoax,  when  he  is  informed  that 
this  Burgum  defrauded  his  partner  of  all  the  property 
he  possessed,  £3,000  ? I wish  we  could  release  him 
with  as  little  blame  from  the  graver  charge  of  invent- 
ing histories  for  Barrett. 

So  much  then  up  to  his  sixteenth  year ; though  as 


/xviii 


LIFE  OF  CHATTEllTON. 


yet  he  has  been  only  conning  his  part,  which  he  will 
play  finely  presently,  when  he  has  a freer  stage,  and  is 
not  hampered  by  side-scenes  and  foot-lights.  After 
all  it  is  only  a melodrame,  and  no  complete  tragedy ; 
it  would  never  be  licensed  as  such  by  the  Lord  Cham- 
berlain. 


VI. 


Corresponds  with  Dodsley  and  Walpole  on  the  subject 
of  the  Rowley  Poems» 

We  may  suppo^  that  by  this  period  the  creation  of 
Rowley  was  nearly,  if  not  all,  completed.  How  long 
this  shadowy  renown  might  have  contented  Chatterton, 
had  he  met  with  the  success  he  anticipated,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  determine.  Whether,  from  under  the  supposi- 
titious mantle  of  Rowley,  he  might  still  have  continued 
to  hoodwink  the  world ; or  whether,  casting  aside  the 
‘simulacrum,  or  ghost-defunct’  of  a poet,  he  would 
have  stepped  forth  and  cried  Lo ! I am  Caesar ! and 
gathering  up  his  monkish  habiliments,  have  hurled 
them  back  into  the  shadow  of  deep  night,  can  only  be 
matter  for  conjecture.  For  indeed  he  seemed  little 
ambitious  of  his  own  renown,  and  preferred  the  ap- 
plause showered  upon  Rowley  to  the  astonishment  that 
might  have  greeted  Chatterton.  And  hence,  in  this 
acting  of  a dual  part,  arises  the  great  difficulty  of 
rightly  estimating  his  character. 

But,  leaving  it  to  the  reader  to  solve  the  difficulty 
as  he  pleases,  we  find  that  we  are  now  arrived  at  one 
of  the  most  imj)ortant  eras  of  Chatterton’s  life.  He 
had  grown  ambitious  to  appear  in  print,  and  here  again 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Ixix 


not  in  the  proper  person  of  his  one  self,  Chatterton, 
but  of  his  other  self,  Rowley.  To  compass  this  end  he 
made  application  to  Dodsley,  the  noted  publisher,  in 
the  following  letter : — 

“ Bristol^  December  21,  1768. 

“ Sir, — I take  this  method  to  acquaint  you  that  I can  pro- 
cure copies  of  several  ancient  poems;  and  an  interlude,  per- 
haps the  oldest  dramatic  piece  extant,  wrote  by  one  Rowley, 
a priest  in  Bristol,  who  lived  in  the  reigns  of  Henry  the  Vlth, 
and  Edward  the  IVth.  If  these  pieces  will  be  of  service  to 
you,  at  your  command,  copies  shall  be  sent  to  you  by, 

“ Your  most  obedient  servant, 

“ D.  B. 

“ Please  to  direct  for  D.  B.,  to  be  left  with  Mr.  Thomas 
Chatterton,  RedclifTe  Hill,  Bristol. 

“ For  Mr.  J.  Dodsley,  bookseller^  Pall  Mall^  LondxmP 

It  is  supposed  that  the  bibliopole  returned  no  answer. 
To  correspondents  of  small  notoriety,  publishers  are 
so  uncourteous.  In  less  than  two  months  Chatterton 
addressed  him  again. 

'"'‘Bristol^  February^  15,  1769. 

“ Sir, — Having  intelligence  that  the  tragedy  of  iElla  was 
in  being,  after  a long  and  laborious  search,  I was  so  happy  as 
to  attain  a sight  of  it.  Struck  with  the  beauties  of  it,  I en- 
deavoured to  obtain  a copy  of  it  to  send  to  you ; but  the  present 
possessor  absolutely  denies  to  give  me  one  unless  I give  him 
a guinea  for  a consideration.  As  I am  unable  to  procure 
such  a sum,  I made  search  for  another  copy,  but  unsuccess- 
fully. Unwilling  such  a beauteous  piece  should  be  lost,  1 
have  made  bold  to  apply  to  you : several  gentlemen  of  learn- 
ing, who  have  seen  it,  join  with  me  in  praising  it.  I am  far 
from  having  any  mercenary  views  for  myself  in  this  affair, 
and,  was  I able,  would  print  it  at  my  own  risque.  It  is  a 
perfect  tragedy ; the  plot  clear,  the  language  spirited,  and  the 
^ongs  (interspersed  in  it)  are  flowing,  poetical,  and  elegantly 
simple;  the  similes  judiciously  applied,  and,  though  wrote 


Ixx 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


in  the  reign  of  Henry  the  VTth,  not  inferior  to  many  of  the 
present  age.  If  I can  procure  a copy,  with  or  without' the 
gratification,  it  shall  be  immediately  sent  to  you.  The  motive 
that  actuates  me  to  do  this  is,  to  convince  the  world  that  the 
monks  (of  whom  some  have  so  despicable  an  opinion)  were 
not  such  blockheads  as  generally  thought,  and  that  good 
poetry  might  be  wrote  in  the  dark  days  of  superstition,  as 
well  as  in  these  more  enlightened  ages.  An  immediate  answer 
will  oblige.  I shall  not  receive  your  favour  as  for  myself,  but 
as  your  agent. — I am.  Sir,  your  most  obedient  servant, 

“ Thomas  Chatterton. 

“ P.  S. — My  reason  for  concealing  my  name  was,  lest  my 
master  (who  is  now  out  of  town)  should  see  my  letters,  and 
think  I neglected  his  business.  Direct  for  me  on  Redcliffe 
Hill.” 

Then  came  an  extract  from  the  tragedy,  by  way  of 
specimen ; and  the  letter  concluded  with  this  no- 
tice : — 

“ The  whole  contains  about  one  thousand  lines.  If  it  should 
not  suit  you,  I should  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  would  calculate 
the  expenses  of  printing  it,  as  I will  endeavour  to  publish  it 
by  subscription  on  my  own  account. 

“ For  Mr.  Janies  Dodsley,  bookseller^  Pall  Mall^  LondonP"^ 

It  is  generally  thought  that  Chatterton  likewise  re- 
ceived no  answer  to  this  second  letter ; — I must  say 

1 These  letters  were  for  a long  period  preserved — by  acci- 
dent, apparently — among  other  loose  papers  in  Dodsley’s 
counting-house.  They  were  subsequently  advertised  among 
the  autograph  rarities  in  Thorpe’s  catalogue,  and  were  after- 
wards traced  into  the  possession  of  Mr.  Haslewood,  a great 
Chattertonian  collector.  They  were  first  published  in  1813, 
by  Mr.  Britton,  in  his  work  on  Redcliffe  Church.  A more 
detailed  account,  and  a fac-simile  of  one  of  the  letters,  will  bo 
found  in  a periodical  called  “ Sherwood’s  London  Miscel- 
kny,”  for  January,  1839. — Ed 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Ixxi 


tha,t  I am  of  a different  opinion.  In  his  letter  to  hk 
relation,  Stephens,  he  speaks  of  Dodsley  as  his  corre- 
spondent ; and  notwithstanding  all  the  romance  of  that 
epistle,  a vein  of  truth  runs  through  his  account  of  the 
affair  with  Walpole,  and  I see  therefore  no  reason  to 
question  the  accuracy  of  his  other  statement.  But  of 
course  the  scheme  failed.  Publishers  do  not  remit  the 
purchase-money  for  a copyright  until  they  have  the 
yuid  pro  quo  in  hand.  And  a tragedy  too,  of  the  age 
of  Henry  YIth!  A perfect  tragedy^  the  plot  clear ^ the 
language  spirited^  and  the  songs  flowing^  poetical^  and 
elegandy  simple.  And  this  on  the  word  of  an  unknown 
correspondent,  whose  ‘ master  ’ might  think  he  neglect- 
ed his  ‘ business.*  There  was  not  so  much  shrewdness 
in  this  manoeuvre  of  Chatterton*s  to  obtain  a guinea, 
as  might  have  been  expected  from  him. 

And  now  it  was,  that  defeated  in  his  application  to 
Dodsley,  he  conceived  the  project  of  opening  a corre- 
spondence with  Horace  Walpole — Lord  Orford, — a 
man  of  eminence  and  high  standing,  both  in  literature 
and  the  world.  And  here  he  went  to  work  in  a different 
manner,  as  suited  to  the  altered  rank  of  the  party  on 
whom  he  intended  to  practise.  He  commenced  with 
this  letter,  and  manuscript : — 

“ Sir, — Being  versed  a little  in  antiquities,  1 have  met  with 
several  curious  manuscripts,  among  which  the  following  may 
be  of  service  to  you,  in  any  future  edition  of  your  truly  enter- 
taining Anecdotes  of  Fainting.  In  correcting  the  mistakes 
(if  any)  in  the  notes,  you  will  greatly  oblige, 

Your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Thomas  Chatterton. 

March  25,  Corn-street 


Ixxii 


LIFE  OF  CHATTEKTOX. 


2T|)e  2^5se  of  ^e^ncte^nr  fn  Hiifllantie,  torotcix  ijjj 

2^oU)lte,i  1469,  foe  i0[astre  (lanwnije.^ 

“Peynctynge  ynn  England,  haveth  of  ould  tyme  bin  yn 
use;  for  saieth  the  Roman  wry ters,  the  Brytoimes  dyd  de- 
pycte  themselves,  yn  soimdrie  wyse,  of  the  fourmes  of  the 
sonne  and  mocne  wythe  the  hearbe  woade:  albeytte  1 doubto 
theie  were  no  skylled  carvel lers.  The  Romans  be  accounted 
of  all  menne  of  cimnynge  wytte  yn  peyncteynge  nnd  carvel- 
lynge;  aunter  theie  mote  inhylde  theyre  rare  devyces  ynto 
the  mynds  of  the  Bry tonnes;  albeytte  att  the  commeynge  of 
Hengeyst,  nete  appeares  to  wytteness  yt,  the  Kystes  are  rude- 
lie  ycorven,  and  for  the  moste  parte  houge  hepes  of  stones. 
Heiigeste  dyd  brynge  ynto  this  reanlme  herehaughtrie, 
whyche  dydde  peyncteynge.  Hengeste  bare  an  asce  ^ ahreed 
bie  an  afgod.  Horsa,  an  horse  sauleaunte,  whych  eftsoones 
hys  broder  eke  bore.  Cerdyke,  a sheld  adryfene.4  Cuthwar, 
a shelde  afaegrod : ^ whose  ensamples  were  followed  bie  the 

1 “ T.  Rowlie  was  a secular  priest  of  Saint  John’s,  in  this 
city;  his  merit  as  a biographer,  historiographer,  is  great;  as 
a poet  still  greater:  some  of  his  pieces  would  do  honour  to 
Pope;  and  the  person  under  whose  patronage  they  may  ap- 
pear to  the  world,  will  lay  the  Englishman,  the  antiquary, 
and  the  poet,  under  an  eternal  obligation.” 

[All  these  notes  are  by  Chatterton,  and  are  printed  as  they 
appear  in  the  letter.] 

2 “ The  founder  of  that  noble  gothic  pile,  St.  Mary  Redclift 
Church,  in  this  city;  the  Maecenas  of  his  time;  one  who 
could  happily  blend  the  poet,  the  painter,  the  priest,  and  the 
Christian,  perfect  in  each:  a friend  to  all  distress,  an  honour 
to  Bristol,  and  a glory  to  the  church.” 

^AscCj  &c.,  a ship  supported  by  an  idol. 

^ Adryfene^  an  embossed  shield;  being  rudely  carved  with 
flowers,  leaves,  serpents,  and  whatever  suited  the  imagination 
of  the  carver. 

^ Afayn'd,  a shield  painted  in  the  same  taste  as  the  carving 
of  the  last. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


IxKiii 


latter  of  hys  troope,  thys  emproved  the  gentle  art  of  peyncte* 
ynge.  Herehaughtrie  was  yn  esteem  araongste  them : take 
yee  these  Saxon  acheumentes.  Heofmas  i un  ascced-fet  was 
ybore  of  Leof,  an  Abthane  of  Somertonne.  Ocyre  2 aaded- 
ybore  bie  Elawolf  of  Mercier.  Blac  8 border  adronet  an  stow^ 
adellice — the  auntiaunte  armonrie  of  Bristowe.  A scelde^ 
agrefen  was  the  armonrie  of  ^Elle  Lord  of  Bristowe  Castle. 
Crosses  in  maynte  nornbere  was  ybore,  albeyt  chiefes  and  oder 
partytiones  was  unknowen,  untill  the  nynth  centurie.  Nor 
waspeyncteynge  of  sheeldes  theire  onlie  emploie,  walles  maie 
be  seene,  whereyn  ys  auntiaunte  Saxonne  peynteynge;  and 
the  carvellynge  maie  be  seene  yn  imageies  atte  Keyneshame, 
Puckilchyrche,  and  the  castel;  albeyt  largerre  thane  life,  theie 
bee  of  feeytyre  hondie  warke.  Afileredus  was  a peyncter  of 
the  eighth  centurie,  hys  dresse  bee  ynne  menne,  a longe  alban, 
braced  wyth  twayneof  azure  gyrdles;  labelles  of  redde  clothe 
onne  his  arine  and  flatted  beaver  uponne  the  heade.  Next 
Aylward  in  tenthe  centurie  ycorven  longe  paramentes;  wyth- 
oute,  of  redde  uponne  pourple,  wyth  gould  beltes  and  dukalle 
couronnes  beinge  rems  of  floreated  goulde.  Afflem  a peyncter 
lived  ynne  the  reygne  of  Edmonde;  whane,  as  storie  saiethe 
was  fyrst  broughte  ynto  Englande,  the  counynge  mysterie  of 
steineynge  glasse,  of  which  he  was  a notable  performer;  of 
his  worke  maie  bee  seene  atte  Ashebyrne,  as  eke  at  the  myn- 
ster  chauncele  of  Seyncte  Bede,  whych  doethe  represente 
Seyncte  Warburghe  to  whose  honoure  the  mynstere  whylome 
han  bin  dedycated.  Of  hys  lyfe  be  fulle  maint  accountes. 
Goeynge  to  partes  of  the  londe  hee  was  taken  bie  the  Danes, 
and  carryed  to  Denmarque,  there  to  bee  forslagen  bie  shotte 
of  arrowe.  Inkarde,  a soldyer  of  the  Danes,  was  to  slea  hym ; 


Heofnas^  &c.,  azure,  a plate;  which  is  the  signification  of 
aeced-fed. 

2 Ocyre^  &c.,  or  Promeise,  and  in  Saxon,  was  little  green 
cakes  offered  to  the  afgods  or  idols. 

8 Blac,  &c.,  sable,  within  a border  under,  a town  vralled 
and  crenelled  proper. 

A scclde,  &c..  a shield,  caiwed  with  crosses. 


Ixxiv 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


onne  the  nete  before  the  feeste  of  deathe  hee  found  Afflen  to 
bee  hys  broder.  Affryghte  chayiiede  uppe  hys  soule.  Ghaste- 
nesse  dwelled  yn  his  breaste.  Oscarre,  the  greate  Dane,  gave 
best  hee  shulde  bee  forslagen,  with  the  comraeynge  sunne,  no 
teares  coulde  availe,  the  morne  ciadde  yn  roabes  of  ghastness 
was  come;  whan  the  Danique  kynge  ^)ehested  Oscarre,  to 
arraye  his  knyghtes  eftsoones,  for  warre : Afflem  was  put  yn 
theyre  fiyeynge  battailes,  sawe  his  countrie  ensconced  wyth 
foemen,  hadde  hys  wyfe  ande  chyldrene  broghten  capteeves 
to  hys  shyppe,  and  was  deieynge  wythe  sorrowe,  whanne  the 
loude  blataunte  wynde  hurled  the  battyle  agaynst  an  heck. 
For  fraughte  wythe  embolleynge  waves,  he  sawe  hys  broder, 
wyfe,  and  chyldrenne  synke  to  deathe:  himselfe  was  throwen 
onne  a bank  ynne  Isle  of  Wyghte,  to  lyve  hys  lyfe  forgarde  to 
alle  emmorse:  thus  moche  for  Afflem.  John,i  second  abbatte 
of  Seyncte  Austyn  mynsterre,  was  the  fyrste  Englyshe  payn- 
stere  in  oyles;  of  hym  havelsaydein  odere  places  relateynge 
to  his  poesies.  He  dyd  wryte  a boke  of  the  Proportione  of 
Imageries,  whereynne  he  saieth  the  Saxonnes  dydde  throwe 
a mengleture  over  theyre  coloures  to  chevie  them  from  the 
weder.  Nowe  methynkethe  steinede  glasse  motte  need  no 


1**  This  John  was  inducted  abbot  in  the  year  1186,  and  sat 
in  the  dies  29  years.  He  was  the  greatest  poet  of  the  age  in 
which  he  lived;  he  understood  the  learned  languages,  lake 
a specimen  of  his  poetry  on  King  Richard  I. 

“ Harte  of  lyone ! shake  thie  sword. 

Bare  thie  mortherynge  steinede  honde; 

Quace  whole  armies  to  the  queede, 

Worke  thie  wylle  yn  burlie  bronde. 

Barons  here  on  bankers  browded, 

Fyghte  yn  furres  gaynste  the  cale ; 

Whitest  thou  ynne  thonderynge  armies 
Warriketh  whole  cyttyes  bale. 

Harte  of  lyon ! sound  the  beme ! 

Sounde  ytte  ynto  ynner  londes, 

Feare  flies  sportine  ynne  the  cleeme, 

Inne  thie  banner  terror  stondes.’* 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Ixxt 


syke  a casinge,  butte  oile  alleynge,  botte  albeytte  ne  peyncte 
yiige  of  the  Saxonnes  bee  in  oyle  botte  water,  or  as  whylorae 
called  eau.  Chatelion,  a Frenchmane,  learned  oyle  peyncte- 
ynge  of  abbot  Johne.  Carvellynge  ynne  hys  daies  gedered 
new  beauties,  botte  mostelie  was  wasted  in  small  and  dribelet 
pieces,  the  ymageries  beeynge  alle  cladde  ynne  longe  par«a- 
rnentes,  whan  the  glorie  of  a carveller  shulde  bee  in  ungar- 
mented ymagerie,  therebie  showinge  the  semblamente  to 
kynde.  Roberte  of  Glowster  .lissed  notte  his  spryghte  to 
warre  ne  learnynge,  butte  was  the  sonne,  under  whose  raies 
the  flourettes  of  the  field  shotte  into  lyfei  Gilla  a Brogtoune 
was  kyndelie  noticed  bie  himme,  who  depycted  notable  yn 
eau.  Henrie  a Thornton  was  a geason  depyctor  of  counte- 
nances ; he  payncted  the  walles  of  master  Canynge  hys  howse, 
where  bee  the  councelrnenne  atte  dynnere;  a most  dayntie 
and  faetyve  performaunce  nowe  yrased  beeynge  done  m.cc.i. 
Henrie  a Londre  was  a curyous  broderer  of  scarces  ynne 
pylver  and  golde  and  selkes  diverse  of  hue.  Childeberte  West 
was  a depyctour  of  countenances.  Botte  above  alle  was  the 
peyncter,  John  de  Bohunn,  whose  worke  male  be  scene  yu 
Westmynster  halle.  Of  carvellers  i and  oder  peyncters  I shall 
sale  hereafter,  fyrst  Englyschynge  from  the  Latyne  cit  to 
wytte.  Peynctynge  improveth  the  mynde,  and  smotheth  tho 
roughe  face  of  our  spryghtes. 

“ For  Horace  Walpole^  Esq. 

“ To  be  left  with  Mr,  Bathoey  bookseller,  near  Exeter  Change, 

Strand,  London.' ' 


With  what  amazement  must  Walpole  have  greeted 
the  receipt  of  this  epistle  ! Heraldry  introduced  into 
England,  by  Hengist!  and  at;hievements  borne  by 
the  Saxons  ! “ Bathoe,  my  bookseller,”  writes  Wal- 

1 have  the  lives  of  several  eminent  carvers,  painters,  &c., 
)f  antiquity,  but  as  they  all  relate  to  Bristol,  may  not  be  of 
service  in  a general  history.  If  they  may  be  acceptable  to 
you,  they  are  at  your  service.” 


Ixxvi 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


pole,  many  years  afterwards,  “ brought  me  a pacquet 
left  with  him.  It  contained  an  ode,  or  little  poem  of 
two  or  three  stanzas,  in  alternate  rhyme,  on  the  death 
of  Richard  I. ; and  I was  told,  in  very  few  lines,  that 
it  had  been  found  at  Bristol  with  many  other  old 
poems;  and  the  possessor  could  furnish  me  with  ac- 
counts of  a series  of  great  painters  that  had  flourished 
at  Bristol.  Here  I must  pause  to  mention  my  own 
reflections.  At  first,  I concluded  that  somebody 
having  met  with  my  Anecdotes  of  Painting,  had  a 
mind  to  laugh  at  me,  I thought  not  very  ingeniously, 
as  I was  not  likely  to  swallow  a succession  of  great 
painters  at  Bristol.  The  ode  or  sonnet,  as  I think 
it  was  called,  was  too  pretty  to  be  a part  of  the  plan  ; 
and,  as  is  easy  with  all  the  other  supposed  poems  of 
Rowley,  it  was  not  difficult  to  make  it  very  modern, 
by  changing  the  old  words  for  new  ; though  yet  more 
difficult  than  with  most  of  them.  I then  imagined,  and 
do  still,  that  the  success  of  Ossian’s  poems  had  suggested 
this  plan.” 

But  Walpole  was  courteous,  and,  without  hinting 
his  suspicions,  which  perhaps  were  not  so  serious  as  he 
would  have  had  the  world  believe  when  it  began  to 
*augh  at  him,  sent  Chatterton  an  immediate  reply, 
couched  in  the  following  terms : — 

“ Arlington-street^  March  28,  1769. 

“ Sir, — I cannot  but  think  myself  singularly  obliged,  by  a 
gentleman  with  whom  I have  not  the  pleasure  of  being  ac^ 
quainted,  when  I read  your  very  curious  and  kind  letter, 
which  I have  this  minute  received.  I give  you  a thousand 
thanks  for  it,  and  for  the  very  obliging  offer  you  make  mo 
of  communicating  your  manuscript  to  me.  What  you  have 
alreaiy  sent  me  is  valuable,  and  full  of  information;  but- 
instead  of  correcting  you,  sir,  you  are  far  more  able  to  cor- 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Ixxvii 


feet  me.  I have  not  the  happiness  of  understanding  the 
Saxon  language,  and  without  your  learned  notes,  should  not 
have  been  able  to  comprehend  Rowley’s  text. 

“ As  a second  edition  of  my  Anecdotes  was  published  last 
year,  I must  not  flatter  myself  that  a third  will  be  w’anted 
soon,  but  I shall  be  happy  to  lay  up  any  notices  you  will  be 
so  good  as  to  extract  for  me,  and  send  meat  your  leisure; 
for  as  it  is  uncertain  when  I may  use  them,  I would  by  no 
means  borrow  and  detain  your  MSS. 

“ Give  me  leave  to  ask  you,  where  Rowley’s  poems  are  to 
be  found.  I should  not  be  sorry  to  print  them,  or  at  least  a 
specimen  of  them,  if  they  have  never  been  printed. 

“ The  abbot  John’s  verses,  that  you  have  given  me,  are 
wonderful  for  their  harmony  and  spirit;  though  there  are 
some  words  I do  not  understand.  You  do  not  point  out 
exactly  the  time  when  he  lived,  which  I wish  to  know;  as  I 
suppose  it  was  long  before  John  al  Ectry’s  discovery  of  oil 
painting:  if  so,  it  confirms  what  I have  guessed,  and  have 
hinted  in  my  Anecdotes,  that  oil  painting  was  known  here 
much  earlier  than  that  discovery  or  revival. 

“I  will  not  trouble  you  with  more  questions  now,  sir;  but 
flatter  myself,  from  the  urbanity  and  politeness  you  have 
already  shown  me,  that  you  will  give  me  leave  to  consult 
you.  I hope  too,  you  will  forgive  the  simplicity  of  my  direc- 
tion, as  you  have  favoured  me  with  none  other. 

“ I am.  Sir,  your  much  obliged 

and  obedient  humble  servant, 

“ Horace  Walpole. 

“ P.  S, — Be  so  good  as  to  direct  to  Mr.  Walpole^  Arlington- 
streeV' 

Chatterton  allowed  no  time  for  this  enthusiasm  to 
cool.  He  instantly  forwarded  a further  communica- 
tion ; but  unfortunately,  of  the  letter  that  accompanied 
it,  we  have  only  a fragment  remaining.  It  is  probable 
that  the  mutilation  took  place  after  AValpole,  at  Chat- 
terton’s  desire,  had  returned  the  letters.  In  the  miss- 
ing portion  of  this  epistle,  Chatterton  had,  with  a 


Ixxviii  LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 

generous  but  imprudent  confidence, — relying  upon 
the  frankness  and  apparent  liberality  of  Horace  Wal 
pole, — confessed  his  limited  means,  and  deplored  the 
humble  sphere  in  which  he  was  condemned  to  move. 
Then  a change  took  place  in  Walpole’s  behaviour, 
which  Chatterton  always  attributed  to  his  unfortunate 
confession.  We  may  imagine  the  indignant  boy,  in  a 
fit  of  mingled  pride  and  resentment,  tearing  and  de- 
facing the  guilty  document ; and  charging  it  with  the 
ruin  of  those  magnificent  visions  which  Walpole’s 
answer  had  raised  and  beautified.  The  remaining 
fragment  is  as  follows  : — 

* ^ ^ 

“ I offer  you  some  further  anecdotes  and  specimens  of 
poetry,  and  am, 

“ Your  very  humble  and  obedient  servant, 

“Thomas  Chatterton. 
“ March  30,  1769,  Qyrn-strccU  BristoU* 

J^fstope  of  jjh  Hnslantre. 

BIE  T.  ROWLIE. 

“ Haveynge  sayde  yn  oder  places  of  peyncteynge  and  the 
ryse  thereof,  eke  of  somme  peyncteres ; nowe  bee  ytte  toe  be 
sayde  of  oders  wordie  of  note.  Afwolde  was  a skylled  wyghte 
yn  laieynge  onne  of  coloures;  hee  lyved  yn  Merciae,  ynne  the 
daies  of  Kynge  Offa,  ande  depycted  the  countenaunce  of 
Eadburga,  his  dawter,  whyche  depycture  beeynge  borne  to 
Bryghtrycke  he  toke  her  to  wyfe,  as  maie  be  seene  at  large 
in  Alfridus.i  Edilwald,  Kynge  of  the  Northumbers,  under- 
stode  peyncteynge,  botte  I cannot  fynde  anie  piece  of  hys 
nemped.2  Inne  a mansion  at  Copenhamme  I have  seene  a 

1 “ This  is  a writer  whose  works  I have  never  been  happy 
enough  to  meet  with.” 

2 Nempedy  mentioned. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Ixxix 


peyncteynge  of  moche  antiquite,  where  is  sitteynge  Egbrychte 
in  a royaul  inannere,  wythe  kynges  yn  chaynes  at  hys  fote, 
wythe  meincte  semblable  i fygures  whyche  were  syraboles  of 
hys  lyfe;  and  I haveth  noted  the  Saxons  to  be  more  notable 
ynne  lore  and  peyncteynge  thann  the  Normannes,  nor  ys  the 
monies  sythence  the  dales  of  Willyame  le  Bastardc  so  fayrelie 
stroken  as  aforetyme.  I eke  haveth  seene  the  armorie  of 
East  Sexe  most  fety  velie  2 depycted,  ynn  the  medst  of  an 
anntyaunte  wall.  Botte  nowe  we  bee  upon  peyncteynge, 
Bommewhatte  male  bee  saide  of  the  poemes  of  these  dales, 
whyche  bee  toe  the  mynde  what  peyncteynge  bee  toe  the 
eyne,  the  coloures  of  the  fyrste  beeynge  mo  diireynge.  Ecca 
Byshoppe  of  Hereforde  yn  d.lvii.  was  a goode  poete,  whome 
I thus  Englyshe ; — 

Whan  azure  skie  ys  veylde  yn  robes  of  nyghte 

Whanne  glemmrynge  dewe  droppes  stoundeS  the  fay - 
tours  4 eyne, 

Whanne  flying  cloudes,  betinged  wyth  roddie  lyghte. 

Doth  on  the  bryndlynge  wolfe  and  wood  bore  shine, 

Whanne  even  star,  fay  re  herehaughte  of  nyghte, 

Spreds  the  darke  douskie  sheene  along  the  mees,® 

The  wrethynge  neders  6 sends  a glumie  lyghte. 

And  houlets  wynge  from  levyn  8 blasted  trees. 

Arise  mie  spryghte  and  seke  the  distant  delle. 

And  there  to  echoing  tonges  thie  raptured  joies  ytele. 

Gif  thys  manne  han  no  hande  for  a peynter,  he  had  a 
head : a pycture  appearethe  ynne  each  lyne,  and  I wys  so 

1 Semblable,  metaphorical. 

2 Fetyvelie,  elegantly,  handsomely. 

8 Stounde,  astonish. 

4 Faytours,  travellers. 

8 Mees,  mead. 

6 Neders,  adders,  used  here  perhaps  as  a glow-worm. 

Glumie,  dull,  gloomy. 

8 Levyn,  blasted  by  lightning. 

VOL.  I.  F 


Ixxx 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


fyne  an  even  sighte  mote  be  drawn  as  ynne  the  above.  In 
anoder  of  hys  vearses  he  saithe : — 

Whanne  sprynge  came  dauncynge  onne  a flourette  bedde, 
Dighte  ynne  greene  raimente  of  a chaungynge  kynde; 
The  leaves  of  hawthorne  boddeynge  on  hys  hedde, 

And  wythe  prymrosen  coureynge  to  the  wynde: 

Thanne  dydd  the  Shepster  i hys  longe  albanne  2 spredde 
Uponne  the  greenie  bancke  and  daunced  rounde 
Whilest  the  soest  flowretes  nodded  onne  his  hedde, 

And  hys  fayre  lambes  besprenged  3 onne  the  grounde, 
Anethe  hys  fote  the  brooklette  ranne  alonge, 

Whyche  strolleth  rounde  the  vale  to  here  his  joyous  songo. 

Methynckethe  these  bee  thoughtes  notte  oft  to  be  metten 
wyth,  and  ne  to  bee  excellede  yn  theyre  kynde.  Elmar, 
Byshoppe  of  Selseie,  was  fetyve  yn  workes  of  ghastlieness,^ 
for  the  whyche  take  yee  thys  speeche; — 

Nowe  maie  alle  helle  open  to  glope  thee  downe, 

Whylst  azure  merke  3 immenged  3 wythe  the  dale, 
Shewe  lyghte  on  darkned  peynes  to  be  moe  roune,7 
0 mayest  thou  die  lyvinge  deathes  for  aie : 

Maie  floodes  of  Solfirre  bear  thie  sprighte  anoune,® 
Synkeynge  to  depths  of  woe,  maie  levynne  brondes® 
Tremble  upon  thie  peyne  devoted  crowne, 

And  senge  thie  alle  yn  vayne  emploreynge  hondes; 


1 Shepster^  shepherd. 

2 Albanne^  a large  loose  white  robe. 

3 Besprenged^  scattered. 

4 Ghastlienessy  terror. 

3 Merke^  darkness. 

® Immenged^  mingled. 

7 Roune^  terrific. 

3 Anoune^  ever  and  anon. 

® Levynne  hrondes^  thunderbolts. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTEllTON. 


Ixxxi 


Maie  all  the  woes  that  Godis  wrathe  can  sende 

Uponne  thie  heade  alyghte,  and  there  theyre  furie  spendc. 

Gorweth  of  Wales  be  sayde  to  be  a wry  ter  goode,  botte  I 
nnderstande  notte  that  tonge.  Thus  raoche  for  poetes,  whose 
poesies  do  beere  resemblance  to  pyctures  in  inie  unwordie 
opynion.  Asserius  was  wryter  of  hystories;  he  ys  buryed 
at  Seyncte  Keynas  College  ynne  Keynsham  wythe  Turgotte, 
anoder  wr\Ter  of  hystories,  Inne  the  walle  of  this  college  ys 
a toinbe  of  Seyncte  Keynat  whych  was  ydoulven  anie,  and 
placed  ynne  the  walle,  albeit  done  yn  the  daies  of  Cerdj^ke, 
as  appeared  bie  a crosse  of  leade  upon  the  kyste;2  ytte  bee 
moe  notablie  performed  than  meynte^  of  ymageries^  of 
these  daies.  Inne  the  chyrche  wyndowe  ys  a geason  5 
peyncteynge  of  Seyncte  Keyna  syttynge  yn  a trefoliated 
chayre,  ynne  a long  alban  braced  wythe  golden  gyrdles  from 
the  wayste  upwarde  to  the  breaste,  over  the  whyche  ys  a 
small  azure  coape;®  benethe  ys  depycted  Galfridus,  mlv, 
whyche  maie  bee  that  Geoffroie  who  ybuylded  the  geason 
gate  * to  Seyncte  Augustynes  chapele  once  leadynge.  Harrie 
Piercie  of  Northomberlande  was  a quaynte^  peyncter;  he 
lyvede  yn  m.c.  and  depycted  severalle  of  the  wyndowes 
ynne  Thonge  Abbye,  the  greate  windowe  atte  Battaile  Ab- 
beie;  he  depycted  the  face  verie  welle  wythalle,  botte  was 
lackeynge  yn  the  most-to-bee-loked-to  accounte,  proportione. 
John  a Roane  payncted  the  shape  of  a hayre:  he  carved  the 
castle  for  the  sheelde  of  Gilberte  Clare  of  thek  ® feytyve 

' “ This  I believe  is  there  now.” 

2 Kyste,  coffin. 

8 MeyntCj  many. 

4 Ymageries^  statues,  &c. 

5 Geason,  curious. 

6 Coape,  cloak  or  mantle. 

Quaynte,  curious. 

* This  gate  is  now  standing  in  this  city,  though  the  chapel 
te  not  to  be  seen. 

8 Thek,  very. 


ixxxii 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


performaunce.  Elwarde  ycorne  i the  castle  for  the  seal  of 
Kynge  Harolde  of  most  geason  worke;  nor  has  anie  scale 
Bythence  bynne  so  rare,  excepte  the  scale  of  Kinge  Henrie 
the  fyfthe,  corven  by  Josephe  Whetgyfte.  Thomas  a Baker 
from  corveynge  crosse  loafes,  tooke  to  corveying  of  ymageryes, 
whych  he  dyd  most  fetyvelie ; he  ly ved  ynne  the  cittie  of 
Bathe,  beeynge  the  fyrste  yii  Englande,  thatte  used  hay  re 
ynne  the  bowe  of  the  fyddle,^  beeynge  before  used  wytho 
peetched  hempe  or  flax.  Thys  carveller  dyd  decase  yn 
MLxxi.  Thus  moche  for  carvellers  and  peyncters. 

“John  was  inducted  abbot  in  the  year  1146,  and  sat  in  the 
(lies  29  years.  As  you  approve  of  the  small  specimen  of  his 
poetry,  I have  sent  you  a larger,  which  though  admirable  is 
still  (in  my  opinion)  inferior  to  Rowley ,3  whose  works  when 
I have  leisure  I will  fairly  copy  and  send  you.” 

And  with  this  document,  as  from  the  pen  of  Rowley, 
came  a further  specimen  of  Abbot  John,  in  the  poem 
on  “ Warre,”  inserted  at  page  330  of  vol.  ii. 

The  note  on  the  antiquity  of  the  violin  is  curious 
enough,  and  affords  another  exemplification  of  Chat- 
terton’s  ruling  passion  for  falsifying  history.  There 
can  be  no  doubt,  had  Horace  Walpole  offered  to  un- 
dertake such  a work,  that  Rowley’s  pretended  manu- 
scripts would  have  been  forthcoming,  and  that  Chat- 
terton  would  have  suffered  them  to  be  printed  without 
throwing  off  the  mask,  or  confessing  the  imposition ; 

^ Ycorne^  a contraction  of  ycorven,  carved. 

2 “ Nothing  is  so  much  wanted  as  a History  of  the  Anti- 
quity of  the  Violin,  nor  is  any  antiquary  more  able  to  do  it 
than  yourself.  Such  a piece  would  redound  to  the  honour 
uf  England,  as  Rowley  proves  the  use  of  the  bow  to  be 
knowne  to  the  Saxons,  and  even  introduced  by  them.” 

3 “ None  of  Rowley’s  pieces  were  ever  made  public,  being 
till  the  year  1631,  shut  up  in  the  iron  chest  in  Redclifle 
Church.” 


LIFE  OF  CHATTEKTON. 


Ixxxiii 


supposing,  all  this  time,  that  Walpole  had  allowed 
himself  to  have  been  deceived  by  them. 

But  already,  in  the  second  letter  only,  here  were 
four  poets,  of  whom  the  world  had  never  heard,  res- 
cued from  oblivion  by  Thomas  Chatterton.  Rowley ; 
Abbot  John ; Ecca,  Bishop  of  Plereford ; and  Elmar, 
Bishop  of  ‘ Selseie.’  He  must  have  formed  a-  liberal 
opinion  of  the  measure  of  Horace  Walpole’s  credulity, 
which  perhaps  was  sufficiently  ample,  in  the  success 
of  his  former  experiment,  to  warrant  any  test  he  might 
think  fit  to  administer  in  a second. 

However,  Walpole  declined  being  caught  twice. 
Or,  probably,  Chatterton’s  confession,  as  its  author 
persisted,  was,  after  all,  the  real  cause  of  the  alteration 
— if  indeed  there  was  any,  beyond  a natural  disincli- 
nation to  be  imposed  upon — in  Walpole’s  behaviour. 
Upon  reading  Chatterton’s  statement,  which,  according 
to  the  virtuoso,  was  in  these  terms — “ he  informed  me 
that  he  was  the  son  of  a poor  widow,  who  supported 
him  with  great  difficulty ; that  he  was  clerk  or  ap- 
prentice to  an  attorney,  but  had  a taste  and  turn  for 
more  elegant  studies ; and  hinted  a wish  that  I would 
assist  him  with  my  interest  in  emerging  out  of  so  dull 
a profession,  by  procuring  him  some  place  in  which  he 
could  pursue  his  natural  bent;” — upon  reading  this 
statement,  Walpole  wrote  to  a relation,  an  old  lady 
living  at  Bath,  and  desired  her  to  make  enquiries  re- 
specting Chatterton,  and  communicate  the  result  to 
him.  This  was  done,  and  the  boy’s  story  was  verified, 
though  “ nothing  was  returned  about  his  character,” 
on  which  subject  Walpole  had  particularly  requested 
information ; for,  indeed,  the  authenticity  of  these 
xtraordinary  documents  was  being  called  in  question. 


Ixxxiv 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Walpole  had  communicated  the  poems  to  his  friends, 
Gray  and  Mason — famous  in  their  time,  and  the  former 
artificial  as  he  is,  still  read  and  admired — who  “ at  once 
pronounced  them  forgeries,  and  declared  there  was  no 
symptom  in  them  of  their  being  the  productions  of  near 
so  distant  an  age ; ’’  and  “ recommended  the  returning 
them  without  any  further  notice ; ” but  overstepping 
their  advice,  Walpole  wrote  another  letter  to  Chatter- 
ton,  in  which  he  told  him  that  he  had  “ communicated 
his  transcripts  to  much  better  judges,  and  that  they 
were  by  no  means  satisfied  with  the  authenticity  of  hia 
supposed  MSS. ; ” objecting  the  harmony  and  structure 
of  the  versification,  which  indeed  is  an  insurmountable 
objection  to  the  antiquity  of  any  of  the  poems  pro- 
duced by  Chatterton.  For  the  substance  of  his  obser- 
vations, as  the  letter  is  lost,  being  probably  destroyed 
by  the  angry  boy,  we  cannot  do  better  than  quote 
Walpole’s  words,  as  he  afterwards  related  the  affair  in. 
his  own  defence : — 

“ Being  satisfied  with  my  intelligence  about  Chatterton,  I 
wrote  him  a letter  with  as  much  kindness  and  tenderness  as 
if  I had  been  his  guardian;  for,  though  I had  no  doubt  of  his 
impositions,  such  a spirit  of  poetry  breathed  in  his  coinage, 
as  interested  me  for  him;  nor  was  it  a grave  crime  in  a young 
bard  to  have  forged  false  notes  of  hand  that  were  to  pass  cur- 
rent only  in  the  parish  of  Parnassus.  I undeceived  him 
about  my  being  a person  of  any  interest,  and  urged  to  him 
that  in  duty  and  gratitude  to  his  mother,  who  had  straitened 
herself  to  breed  him  up  to  a profession,  he  ought  to  labour  in 
it,  that  in  her  old  age  he  might  absolve  his  filial  debt;  and 
I told  him  that  when  he  should  have  made  a fortune,  he 
might  unbend  himself  with  the  studies  consonant  to  his 
mclinations  ” 

So  far,  gooi ; but  while  we  believe  that  no  blame 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Ixxxv 


whatever  attaches  itself  to  Walpole — estimating  his 
action  only — in  his  conduct  towards  Chatterton,  we 
must  acknowledge  that  the  above  statement  looks 
rather  awkward  when  placed  side  by  side  with  the  fol- 
lowing, which  occurs  in  the  same  ‘ defence  : ’ — 


“ I shoTild  have  been  blamable  to  his  mother,  and  society, 
if  I had  seduced  an  apprentice  from  his  master,  to  marry  him 
to  the  nine  muses ; and  I should  have  encouraged  a propensity 
to  forgery,  which  is  not  the  talent  most  wanting  culture  in  the 
present  age.  All  of  the  house  of  forgery  are  relations;  and 
though  it  is  just  to  Chatterton’s  memory  to  say,  that  his 
poverty  never  made  him  claim  kindred  with  the  richest,  or 
more  enriching  branches,  yet  his  ingenuity  in  counterfeiting 
styles,  and  I believe,  hands,  might  easily  have  led  him  to  those 
more  facile  imitations  of  prose^  promissory  notes." 

This  indeed  is  a ‘ damnatory  clause ; ’ especially 
when  we  remember  that  Horace  Walpole  was  the 
author  of  the  “ Castle  of  Otranto,”  in  the  preface  to 
which  work  it  is  stated  to  have  been  discovered  “ in 
the  library  of  an  ancient  Catholic  family  in  the  north 
of  England,  and  printed  at  Naples  in  the  black  letter, 
in  the  year  1529 assuming,  in  fact,  to  be  a transla- 
tion from  the  Italian  ; and  then,  in  the  second  edition, 
casting  off  the  mask,  “ the  author  flatters  himself  he 
shall  appear  excusable  for  having  offered  his  work  to 
the  world  under  the  borrowed  personage  of  a translator.” 
So  might  Chatterton  have  appealed — Was  not  my 
Rowley  a “ borrowed  personage,”  and  am  not  I there- 
fore ‘ excusable  ? ’ “ Oh ! ye,”  exclaims  the  indignant 
Coleridge,  coupling  this  fact  with  the  foregoing  heart- 
less reference  to  the  ‘ house  of  forgery/  “ Oh  ! ye  who 
honour  the  name  of  man,  rejoice  that  this  Walpole  is 


Ixxxvi 


LIFE  OF  CHATTEllTON. 


called  a lor  dr  i One  fact,  however,  in  Walpole’s  fa\our 
must  be  borne  in  mind  ; Cbatterton  did  not  so  appeal, 
but  still  persisted  in  his  first  assertion.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  should  not  be  forgotten — what  seems  hitherto 
to  have  escaped  notice — that  Walpole  many  years 
afterwards,  had  the  cowardice  to  deny  the  receipt  of 
these  letters  which  Cbatterton  had  sent  him,  with  their 
history  of  Painters  and  Glass-stainers,  and  specimens 
of  “ time-shrouded  minstrelsy,”  of  which  no  other  than 
himself  was  the  “ sweet  harper.”  This  the  virtuoso  did 
in  a letter  to  Hannah  More,  dated  September,  1789, 
immediately  after  the  publication  of  Barrett’s  History 
of  Bristol,  in  which  these  letters  were  printed  for  the 
first  time,  and  made  public  for  all  the  world  to  read, 
and  as  a likely  consequence  to  ridicule  the  poor  dupe 
who  had  suffered  himself  to  be,  in  his  own  words., 
“ so  bamboozled.”  Here  runs  his  denial : — 

“ I will  not  ask  you  about  the  new  History  of  Bristol,  be- 
cause you  are  too  good  a citizen  to  say  a word  against  your 
native  place ; but  do  pray  cast  your  eye  on  the  prints  of  the 
cathedral  2 and  castle,  the  chefd'c&uvres  of  Cliatterton’s  igno- 
rance, and  of  Mr.  Barrett’s  too,  and  on  two  letters,  pretended 
to  have  been  sent  to  me,  a?id  tohich  never  were  sent.  If  my  in- 
credulity had  wavered,  they  would  have  fixed  it.  I wish  the 
milkwoman  3 would  assert  that  Boadicea’s  daiiymaid  had  in- 
vented Dutch  tiles;  it  would  be  like  Chatterton’s  origin  of 
heraldry  and  painted  glass  in  these  two  letters.'* 

1 This  must  have  been  before  he  wrote  “ for  the  Morning 
Post  its  aristocracy.” 

2 The  print  of  the  cathedral,  in  Barrett’s  History,  is  in  no 
respect  connected  with  Chatterton. — Tyson. 

8 Ann  Yearsley,  the  poetical  milkwoman,  and  a protegit 
of  Hannah  More’s. 

^ Horace  Walpole’s  Letters,  vol.  vi.  1840. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Ixxxvii 


This  was  indeed  cowardly,  and  somewhat  Impudent. 
The  man  of  science,  who  had  desired  further  informar 
tion — had  particularly  enquired  about  Abbot  John  and 
the  discovery  of  oil-painting,  shrank  from  the  ridicule 
to  which  he  had  now  become  obviously  exposed.  And 
so  pitifully  done — not  boldly  denied, — that  he  dared 
not  do,  for  he  too  well  knew  that  his  own  answer  was 
in  existence,  and  might  some  day  be  produced  against 
him, — but  snivelling  in  a letter  to  an  antiquated  blue- 
stocking. This  was  mean  enough. 

Setting  all  this  aside,  however,  and  judging  of  Wal- 
pole’s conduct  by  his  actions  during  Chatterton’s  life- 
time, we  cannot  think  he  was  to  blame.  Sure  we  are 
that  there  was  scarcely  one  person  living  who  would 
have  acted  otherwise  had  the  overture  been  made  to 
himself.  Besides  the  recent  discovery  of  the  Maepher- 
son  imposition,  in  which  Walpole  was  implicated,  as  he 
was  one  of  the  first  entrusted  with  specimens  of  Ossian’s 
fragments,  which  he  implicitly  believed,  was  too  fresh, 
and  too  galling,  to  have  allowed  him  to  weigh  calmly 
the  merits  of  another  attempt  at  imposition.  “ I had 
not,”  he  frankly  confesses,  “ zeal  enough  to  embark  a 
second  time  in  a similar  crusade.” 

But  we  are  forestalling  our  narrative  by  these  re- 
marks. Upon  receiving  Walpole’s  second  letter,  and 
after  pondering  upon  the  advice  it  contained.  Chatter- 
ton  wrote,  in  reply,  the  following : — 

“ Sir, — I am  not  able  to  dispute  with  a person  of  your 
literary  character.  I have  transcribed  Rowley’s  poems,  &c. 
&c.  from  a transcript  in  the  possession  of  a gentleman  who  is 
assured  of  their  authenticity.  St  Austin’s  minster  was  in 
Bristol.  In  speaking  of  painters  in  Bristol,  I mean  glass- 
Itainers.  The  MSS.  have  long  been  in  the  hands  of  the  pres- 


Ixxxviii 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


ent  possessor,  which  is  all  I know  of  them.  Though  1 am 
but  sixteen  years  of  age,  I have  lived  long  enough  to  see  fliat 
poverty  attends  literature.  I am  obliged  to  you,  Sir,  for  your 
advice  and  will  go  a little  beyond  it,  by  destroying  all  my 
useless  lumber  of  literature,  and  never  using  my  pen  again 
but  in  the  law. 

“I  am,  your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Thomas  Chatterton.” 

As  no  immediate  answer  was  returned  to  this,  its 
writer  became  impatient,  and  in  six  days  time  sent 
again : — 

“ Sir, — Being  fully  convinced  of  the  papers  of  Rowley 
being  genuine,  I should  be  obliged  to  you  to  return  me  the 
copy  I sent  you,  having  no  other.  Mr.  Barrett,  an  able  an- 
tiquary, who  is  now  writing  the  History  of  Bristol,  has  desired 
it  of  me;  and  I should  be  sorry  to  deprive  him,  or  the  world 
indeed,  of  a valuable  curiosity,  which  I know  to  be  an  authen- 
tic piece  of  antiquity. 

“ Your  very  humble  servant, 

“ Thomas  Chatterton. 

Bristol^  Corn-street^  April  14,  1769. 

“ R.  S. — If  you  wish  to  publish  them  yourself,  they  are  at 
your  service.” 

There  are  two  other  letters  to  Walpole  in  the 
British  Museum,  one  in  Chatterton’s  handwriting,  the 
second  in  that  of  Mr.  Barrett,  and  both  bearing  the 
same  date  with  this  last,  April  14.  They  were  never 
sent,  however,  and  the  fact  only  shows  that  their  author 
had  not  determined  what  arguments  to  urge  upon  thfj 
occasion.  That  in  Chatterton’s  writing,  and  which 
was  probably  the  first  copy,  is  as  follows : — 

“ For  Horace  Walpole,  Esq.,  ArlingUm-street,  London, 

“ Sir, — As  I am  now  fully  convinced  that  Rowley’s  papen 
are  genuine,  should  be  obliged  to  you  if  you’d  send  copies  of 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Ixxxix 


them  to  the  Town  and  Country  Magazine,  or  return  them  to 
me  for  that  purpose,  as  it  would  be  tlie  greatest  injustice  to 
deprive  the  world  of  so  valuable  a curiosity. 

“ I have  seen  the  original  from  which  the  extracts  first  sent 
you  were  copied.  The  harmony  is  not  so  extraordinary,  as 
Joseph  Iscam  is  altogether  as  harmonious. 

“ The  stanza  Rowley  writes  in,  instead  of  being  introduced 
by  Spenser,  was  in  use  300  years  before 

******* 
by  Rowley;  although  I have  seen  some  poetry  of  that  age 
exceeding  alliterations  without  rhyme. 

“ I shall  not  defend  Rowley’s  pastoral ; its  merit  can  stand 
its  own  defence. 

“ Rowley  was  employed  by  Canynge  to  go  to  the  principal 
monasteries  in  the  kingdom  to  collect  drawings,  paintings, 
and  all  the  MSS.  relating  to  architecture:  is  it  then  so  very 
extraordinary  he  should  meet  with  the  few  remains  of  Saxon 
learning?  ’Tis  allowed  by  every  historian  of  credit,  that  the 
Normans  destroyed  all  the  Saxon  MSS.,  paintings,  &c.  that 
fell  in  their  way ; endeavouring  to  suppress  the  very  language. 
The  want  of  knowing  what  they  were,  is  all  the  foundation* 
you  can  have  for  styling  them  a barbarous  nation. 

“ If  you  are  not  satisfied  with  these  conspicuous 
******* 
the  honour  to  be  of  my  opinion. 

“ I am,  Sir,  your  very  humble  and  obedient  servant, 

“ Thomas  Chattekion. 

Bristol^  Corn-street,  April  14,  1769.” 


The  other,  of  which  Barrett  has  preserved  a copy 
runs  thus : — 

“ Sir, — Being  fully  convinced  of  the  papers  of  Rowley  be- 
ing genuine,  I should  be  obliged  to  you  to  return  the  copy  I 
gent  you,  having  no  other.  Mr.  Barrett,  who  is  now  writing 
the  History  and  Antiquities  of  the  city  of  Bristol,  has  desired 
it  of  me ; and  I should  be  very  sorry  to  deprive  him,  or  the 
world  indeed,  of  a valuable  curiosity,  which  I know  to  be  an 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


XC 

autlioiitic  piece  of  antiquity.  However  barbarous  the  Saxons 
may  be  called  by  our  modern  virtuosos,  it  is  certain  we' are 
indebted  to  Alfred,  and  other  Saxon  kings,  for  the  wisest  of 
our  laws,  and  in  part,  for  the  British  Constitution.  The 
Normans,  indeed,  destroyed  the  MSS.  paintings,  &c.  of  the 
Saxons  that  fell  in  their  way;  but  some  might  be,  and  cer- 
tainly were,  recovered  out  of  the  monasteries,  &c.  in  which 
they  were  preserved.  Mr.  Vertue  could  know  nothing  of  the 
matter — ’twas  quite  out  of  his  walk.  I thought  Rowley’s 
Pastoral  had  a degree  of  merit  that  would  be  its  own  defence. 
Abbot  John’s  verses  were  translated  by  Rowley  out  of  the 
Greek,  and  there  might  be  poetry  of  his  age  something  more 
than  mere  alliterations,  as  he  was  so  great  a scholar.  The 
stanza,  if  I mistake  not,  w^as  used  by  Ischam,  Gower,  Lad- 
gate,  in  the  sense  as  by  Rowley,  and  the  modern  gloomy 
seems  but  a refinement  of  the  old  word.  Glomming,  in  Anglo- 
Saxon,  is  ye  twilight. 

“ From,  Sir,  your  humble  servant, 

“ April  14.  “ T.  Chattkkton.” 

“As  eJoseph  Iscam,”  remarks  Sir  Walter  Scott,  “ is 
^equally  a person  of  dubious  existence  with  Rowley, 
this  is  a curious  instance  of  placing  the  elephant  upon 
the  tortoise.” 

The  silence  which  Walpole  continued  to  preserve 
towards  Chatterton — notwithstanding  the  importunity 
with  which  the  latter  had  urged  the  return  of  his 
manuscripts — does  not  tell  much  in  his  favour.  When 
he  received  Chatterton’s  letter  he  was  about  to  set  out 
on  a journey  to  Paris,  where,  according  to  his  own 
statement,  he  remained  six  weeks.  But  why  allow 
three  months  to  elapse  without  taking  any  notice  of  his 
correspondent  ? In  July,  we  find  Chatterton,  with  his 
patience  exhausted,  writing  again  in  no  very  measured 
terms : — 

“ Sir, — I cannot  reconcile  your  behaviour  to  me  with  the 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


XCl 


notions  I once  entertained  of  you.  I think  myself  injured, 
lir*  and  did  not  you  know  my  circumstances,  you  would  not 
dare  to  treat  me  thus.  I have  sent  twice  for  a copy  of  the 
MS. — no  answer  from  you.  An  explanation,  or  excuse  for 
your  silence,  would  oblige 

“Thomas  Chatterton.” 


“ Singularly  impertinent ! ” cries  Horace  Walpole. 
“ Dignified  and  spirited ! ” exclaims  Robert  Southey, 
We  leave  our  readers,  with  a fair  statement  of  the 
case  before  them,  to  decide  whether  Chatterton’s  con- 
duct was  the  more  insolent^  or  Walpole’s  behaviour 
the  more  unjust;  in  Southey’s  words,  it  is  thus  “ par- 
ticularly stated  ” that  they  may  form  a just  conception 
of  the  whole  of  the  correspondence  between  Mr.  Wal- 
pole and  the  great  but  unfortunate  Chatterton. 

What  Horace  Walpole  did^  when  he  received  this 
last  epistle,  will  be  best  told  by  himself. 

“ He  wrote  me  (says  Walpole,  referring  to  the  foremen- 
tioned  letter  of  advice,)  rather  a peevish  answer;  said  he 
could  not  contest  with  a person  of  my  learning,  (a  compli- 
ment by  no  means  due  to  me,  and  which  I certainly  had 
not  assumed,  having  mentioned  my  having  consulted  abler 
judges,)  maintained  the  genuineness  of  the  poems,  and  de- 
manded to  have  them  returned,  as  they  were  the  property  of 
another  gentleman. 

“ When  I received  this  letter  I was  going  to  Paris  in  a day 
or  two,  and  either  forgot  his  request  of  the  poems,  or  perhaps, 
not  having  time  to  have  them  copied,  deferred  complying  till 
my  return,  which  was  to  be  in  six  weeks.  I protest  I do  not 
remember  which  was  the  case ; and  yet,  though  in  a cause 
A so  little  importance,  I will  not  utter  a syllable  of  which 
I am  not  positively  certain ; nor  will  charge  my  memory  with 
a tittle  beyond  what  it  retains. 

“Soon  after  my  return  from  France  I received  another 


XCil 


LIFE  OF  CHATTEEwTON. 


letter  from  Chatterton,  the  style  of  which  was  singularly  .m- 
pcrtiiient.  He  demanded  his  poems  roughly;  and  added, 
that  I would  not  have  dar'ed  to  use  him  so  ill,  if  he  had  not 
acquainted  me  with  the  narrowness  of  his  circumstances. 

“ My  heart  did  not  accuse  me  of  insolence  to  him.  I wrote 
an  answer  expostulating  with  him  on  his  injustice,  and  re- 
newing good  advice;  but  upon  second  thoughts,  reflecting 
that  so  wrong-headed  a young  man,  of  whom  I knew  nothing, 
and  whom  I had  never  seen,  might  be  absurd  enough  to  print 
my  letter,  I flung  it  into  the  fire;  and  snapping  up  both  his 
poems  and  letters,  without  taking  a copy  of  either,  for  which 
I am  now  sorry,  I returned  all  to  him,  and  thought  no  more 
of  him  or  them.i 

Walpole  regrets  that  he  took  no  copy  of  Chatter- 
ton’s  MSS.  Had  he  done  so,  would  such  a proceeding 
have  been  strictly  honourable  ? However,  the  world, 
after  heaping  upon  him  all  the  abuse  it  could  think  of, 

i On  these  circumstances  was  founded  the  whole  charge 
that  was  brought  against  Walpole,  of  blighting  the  prospects, 
and  eventually  contributing  to  the  ruin  of  the  youthful 
genius.  Whatever  may  be  thought  of  some  expressions 
respecting  Chatterton,  which  Walpole  employed  in  the  ex- 
planation of  the  affair  which  he  afterwards  published,  tlie 
idea  of  taxing  him  with  criminality  in  neglecting  him,  was 
manifestly  unjust.  But  in  all  cases  of  misfortune,  the  first 
consolation  to  which  human  nature  resorts,  is,  right  or 
wrong,  to  find  somebody  to  blame,  and  an  evil  seems  to  be 
half  cured  when  it  is  traced  to  an  object  of  indignation. — 
Campbell. 

Walpole’s  memory  has  suffered  most  on  account  of  his 
conduct  towards  Chatterton,  in  which  we  have  always 
thought  he  was  perfectly  defensible.  That  unhappy  son  of 
genius  endeavoured  to  impose  upon  Walpole  a few  stanzas 
of  very  inferior  merit  as  ancient,  and  sent  him  an  equally 
gross  and  palpable  imposture  under  the  shape  of  a pretended 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON.  Xciii 

and  oven  charging  him  with  having  been  the  imme- 
diate cause  ot‘  the  pitiable  catastrophe  which  succeeded, 
has  at  length,  and  of  its  own  accord,  pardoned  him, 
and,  I believe,  only  with  justice.  That  he  should  be 
made  accountable  for  Chatterton’s  suicide,  was  one  of 
the  maddest  and  most  absurd  persecutions  ever  urged 
against  an  individual.  The  proud  boy  held  on  his 
course,  “ unslacked  of  motion,”  lor  more  than  a twelve- 
month  afterwards,  manifesting  the  same  passion  for 
imposing  upon  the  credulity  of  others;  nor  did  Wal- 
pole, during  that  time,  nor  till  after  his  most  mournful 
end  had  awakened  public  curiosity  and  solicitude,  hear 
any  thing  more  of  him. 

Chatterton,  indeed,  had  no  right  to  expect  patronage 
at  the  hands  of  Horace  Walpole.  What  had  he  to  do, 
sitting  under  the  shadow  of  the  great?  He  was, 
could  he  but  have  seen  it,  in  a fair  way  of  earning  a 
respectable  livelihood, — might,  in  no  far  removed 
perspective  of  time,  have  seated  his  mother  and  his 
sister  comfortably  at  his  own  board.  And  this,  too, 
independent  of  literature,  which — when  he  had 
grown  to  love  honesty  for  its  own  sake — might  have 
become  to  him,  if  not  an  entire  crutch,  at  least  no 
despicable  walking-staff.  What  did  he  then  currying 

List  of  Painters.  Walpole’s  sole  crime  lies  in  not  patronizing 
at  once  a young  man  who  only  appeared  before  him  in  the 
character  of  a very  inartificial  imposter,  though  he  after- 
wai  is  proved  himself  a gigantic  one.  The  fate  of  Chatterton 
lies  not  at  the  door  of  Walpole,  but  of  the  public  at  large, 
who,  two  years  (we  believe)  afterwards,  were  possessed  of 
the  splendid  proof  of  his  natural  powers,  and  any  one  of 
vhom  was  as  much  called  upon  as  Walpole  to  prevent  the 
ttiost  unhappy  catastrophe. — Sir  Walter  Scott, 


XCIV 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


[>atrleian  favour ; and  rebuking  the  divine  oracle  that 
had  made  its  temple  within  him  ? 

Is  it  not  true  that  in  the  soul  of  every  man  dwell  his 
only  means  of  exertion  and  redress,  and  the  casting 
off  “ the  fardels  of  a weary  life ; ” and  that  worse 
than  leaning  upon  a reed,  is  reliance  upon  another  ? 
“ Drink  wafers  out  of  thine  own  cistern,”  says  Solo- 
mon, “ and  running  waters  out  of  thine  own  well.” 
Chatterton  could  not  see  this : and  he  perished — per- 
ished miserably,  because  he  could  not  see  it.  Alas  1 
the  poison-chalice  is  a desperate  remedy  against 

“ The  whips  and  scorns  of  time. 

The  oppressor’s  wrong, — the  proud  man’s  contumely.” 


vn. 

Abandons  Ms  profession^  and  forms  a resolution  to  try 
Ms  fortune  in  London. 

Ills  disappointment  in  the  affair  with  Walpole  did 
not  improve  Chatterton’s  temper.  The  irksomeness 
of  his  profession,  and  the  disgust  which  he  had  con- 
ceived for  its  restraint,  continued  to  increase ; and  he 
soon  came  to  the  determination,  at  whatever  risks,  to 
abandon  it  altogether.  The  treatment  and  patronage 
which  he  had  received  from  his  native  city — in  the 
very  bosom  of  his  friends — he  resented,  as  insufficient 
for  his  merits ; and  he  began  to  cherish  hypochondriacal 
notions,  and  a general  contempt  for  the  human  race 
His  powers  of  satire,  too,  which  he  wielded  at  random 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


XCV 


wounding  alike  friend  and  foe,  and  with  weapons 
handled,  in  either  case,  with  equal  malignity  and  skill, 
Jiad  brought  him  into  disgrace,  and  singled  him  out  as 
an  object  for  resentment.  He  related  to  one  of  his 
intimate  friends,  that  going  one  evening  after  dark 
over  the  drawbiidge,  he  was  suddenly  knocked  down 
with  a blow  dealt  him  by  some  powerful  assailant.  He 
was  stunned  at  first,  but  on  recovering  his  senses,  he 
found  his  adversary  renewing  the  attack,  and  exclaim- 
ing with  oaths,  that  “ he  would  spoil  his  writing-arm.” 
Chatterton  called  loudly  for  the  watch,  and  his  assail- 
ant took  to  flight ; nor  was  the  poet  aware  by  whom 
he  had  been  thus'  assaulted.^ 

His  religious  opinions,  moreover, — if  indeed  he  had 
ever  been  impressed  with  any  such, — had  now  declined, 
and  he  began  to  talk  infidelity,  and  to  write  it.  That 
an  intellect  like  his  should  at  some  time  or  other  have 
been  overtaken  by  doubts,  was  only  to  be  expected. 
The  greatest  minds  and  the  best  of  men  have  ever 
been  thus  tried.  Perhaps  for  their  after  guidance  such 
misgivings  are  not  wholly  unnecessary ; and  always 
must  they  induce  pity,  and  never  contempt.  The 
“ Philosophy  of  the  Garden  ” is  not  the  worst,  though 
for  minds  other  than  the  strongest,  the  most  dangerous 
knowledge  we  can  acquire.  Under  the  porch,  where 
its  schoolmen  teach,  at  some  stage  or  other,  we  must 
all  sit,  except  perhaps  the  mere  foolish,  who  would 
include  any  thing  in  their  blind  belief,  and  who  are 
only  Christians  because  they  are  not  Pagans.  We 
believe  Shelley — warring  all  his  life  against  the  abuse 
of  religion — to  have  been  the  most  religious  of  all 

1 From  Mr.  Cumberland’s  communication. 

VOJ..  I.  G 


XCVl 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


men.  There  are  many  who  cannot  understand  this, 
and  to  such  will  offence  come.  These  see,  not  with 
the  eye  of  faith,  but  with  the  fleshly  vision  only. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  at  least  of  Chatterton,  that  he  was 
sincere  in  his  disbelief;  for  an  affectation  of  skepticism 
is  of  all  vices  the  most  odious,  though  unfortunately 
not  the  most  uncommon.  In  his  writings  he  strove 
rather  against  the  hypocrisy  of  professors,  than  against 
religion  itself ; he  ridicules  the  Pharisee,  but  never  the 
Publican.  His  antique  poems  are  uniformly  of  an 
exalted  moral,  and  not  unfrequently  of  a devotional 
character.  In  extenuation  of  his  offence,  be  it  remem- 
bered that  he  was  “ literally  and  strictly  ” a boy  ; and 
let  his  accusers,  who  would  be  first  to  cast  a stone  at 
him,  question  of  themselves  what  were  their  own  re- 
ligious principles,  “and  whether  they  had  any”  in 
their  schoolboy  era,  at  the  age  of  sixteen. 

Dealing  with  Chatterton’s  life,  from  this  period  till 
its  most  melancholy  termination,  we  have  many  diffi- 
culties to  encounter.  “ Few  subjects  of  composition,” 
says  Sir  Walter  Scott,  “ equally  affecting  or  elevating 
can  ever  occur,  when  we  consider  the  strange  ambi- 
guity of  his  character,  his  attainments  under  circum- 
stances incalculably  disadvantageous,  and  his  wish  to 
disguise  them  under  the  name  of  another;  his  high 
spirit  of  independence,  and  the  ready  versatility  with 
which  he  stooped  to  the  meanest  political  or  literary 
drudgery  ; the  amiable  and  interesting  affection  which 
he  displays  towards  his  family,  with  a certain  looseness 
of  morahty  which  approaches  to  profligacy, — a subject 
uniting  so  strong  an  alternation  of  light  and  shade.” 
Regarding  these  “ conflicting  elements  ” of  his  dispo- 
sition in  a generous  and  sympathizing  spirit,  many  of 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


xcvn 


his  admirtjrs  have  endeavorirecl  to  excuse  his  failings, 
and  at  once  to  account  for  them  by  urging  tlie  plea  of 
insanity, — a visitation  which  is  likely  to  have  been  too 
true,  and  which  is  strongly  countenanced  by  the  fact 
that  there  were  decided  symptoms  of  such  a malady 
in  his  family.  His  sister  was  placed  under  restraint, 
and  her  own  child  was  subject  to  frequent  fits  of  men- 
tal aberration.  “ A key,”  remarks  his  generous  friend 
Southey,  “ to  the  eccentricities  of  his  life,  and  the  de- 
plorable rashness  of  his  death.”  ^ 


1 Scott  laments  that  the  life  and  character  of  Chatterton 
have  never  been  drawn  by  the  “ hand  of  a master.”  Unfor- 
tunately there  is  no  biography  of  Chatterton,  worthy  of  tho 
name,  in  existence.  That  by  Dr.  Gregory  is  wholly  unwor- 
thy of  the  writer;  it  is  meagre  of  facts,  and  affords  us  scarcely 
one  opportunity  of  judging  of  the  poet,  or  of  deciding  in 
what  particular  he  differed  from  the  herd  of  ordinary  mortals. 
The  Doctor  expresses  no  opinion  of  his  own,  but  leaves  for 
the  reader  the  summary  of  his  scanty  evidence. 

Of  the  recently  published  Life  by  Dix,  it  may  be  as  well 
to  state,  that  there  is  little  new  in  the  work  beside  the  ap- 
pendices. That  by  Mr.  Tyson,  signed  gt.,  is  important.  Of 
the  Life  by  Chalmers,  “ the  hack  of  Grab-street  for  many  a 
long  year,”  we  shall  not  speak  ourselves;  but,  by  way  of 
evidence,  append  a review  from  the  hand  of  a writer,  who, 
as  Lord  Byron  can  well  attest,  had  the  power,  when  he  so 
pleased,  to  castigate  smartly.  The  memoir  of  Chatterton,  by 
a person  named  Davis,  which  may  occasionally  be  picked  up 
for  a few  pence  at  the  bookstalls,  is  in  every  respect  beneath 
criticism. 

“ Mr.  Chalmers’s  Infe  of  Chatterton  is  written  in  the  spirit 
of  Pharisaic  morality,  which  blinds  the  understanding  as 
much  as  it  hardens  the  heart.  He  tells  the  history  of  the 
Rowley  papers  just  as  a pleader  would  have  told  it  at  the  Old 
bailey,  if  Chatterton  had  been  upon  trial  for  forging  a bill 


S:cviii 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Among  the  papers  of  Chatterton,  preserved  in  the 
British  Museum,  there  occurs  the  following  curious 

of  exchange ! After  saying  that  ‘ his  general  conduct  during 
his  apprenticeship  was  decent  and  regular;  and  that  on  one 
occasion  only  Mr.  Lambert  thought  him  deserving  of  correc- 
tion, for  writing  an  abusive  letter,  in  a feigned  hand,  to  his 
old  schoolmaster;’  he  adds,  in  true  Old  Bailey  logic,  ‘so  soon 
did  this  young  man  learn  the  art  of  deceit,  which  he  was  now 
preparing  to  practise  on  a more  extensive  scale.’  When  this 
letter  was  written,  Chatterton  was  hardly  fifteen!  Upon 
publishing  his  first  modern  antique  in  Felix  F'arley's  Bristol 
Journal^  the  subject  excited  inquiry,  and  the  paper  being 
traced  to  him,  he  was  consequently  interrogated,  (says  Mr. 
Chalmers,)  probably  without  much  ceremony,  where  he  ob- 
tained it.  ^And  here  his  unhappy  disposition  showed  itself  in  a 
manner  highly  affecting  in  one  so  youngs  for  he  had  not  yet 
reached  his  sixteenth  yeai\  and^  according  to  all  that  can  be  gath 
ered^  had  not  been  corrupted  either  by  precept  or  example.' 

“ Mr.  Chalmers  is  undoubtedly  learned,  for  he  writes  about 
catalectics;  and  there  is  a well-known  book  within  the  com- 
pass of  his  classical  studies,  which  must  have  taught  him 
that— 

Ingenuas  didicisse  fi deliter  artes 

Emollit  mores,  nec  siiiit  esse  feros: 

but  unhappily  he  has  not  learnt  those  arts  ‘ faithfully,’  for  if 
he  had,  his  feelings  upon  this  subject  would  not  have  been 
thus  ‘ brutal.’  However  dangerous  may  be  the  distinction 
between  venial  and  mortal  sins  in  the  practical  casuistiy  of 
the  Romish  Church,  that  puritanical  spirit,  whose  moral  laws 
are  framed  in  the  temper  of  Draco,  is  more  detestable,  and 
not  less  pernicious.  Mr.  Chalmers  refers  the  whole  fiction  of 
Rowley  to  original  sin.  Satan,  no  doubt,  had  about  as  much 
to  do  with  it  as  with  the  burning  of  the  missionaries’  print 
ing  office  at  Serampore— an  affair  of  which  they  suppose  him 
to  have  repented,  because  of  the  liberal  subscriptions  which 
Were  raised  to  repair  its  loss.  The  deception  was  not  in 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


XCIX 


iocument — being  bis  boasted  articles  of  Faith — writ- 
ten apparently  about  this  period  of  his  life,  and  (I  be- 
lieve) never  before  published ; — 

“ The  Articles  of  the  Belief  of  me,  Thomas  Chatterton. 

“ That  God  being  incomprehensible,  it  is  not  required  of  us 
to  know  the  mysteries  of  the  Trinity. 

“ That  it  matters  not  whether  a man  is  a Pagan,  Turk, 
Jew,  or  Christian,  if  he  acts  according  to  the  religion  he 
professes. 

That  if  a man  leads  a good  moral  life,  he  is  a Christian. 

“That  the  stage  is  the  best  school  of  morality; — and 

“ That  the  Church  of  Rome  (some  tricks  of  priestcraft  ex- 
cepted) is  certainly  the  true  Church. 

“ Thomas  Chatterton.” 

It  is  written  on  a fragment  of  foolscap  paper,  much 
Boiled  and  worn,  apparently  from  having  been  long 

tended  to  defraud  or  injure  one  human  being,  and  might  most 
assuredly  have  been  begun  and  continued  without  the  slight- 
est sense  of  criminality  in  Chatterton.  And  for  the  other 
eccentricities  of  his  life,  and  its  melancholy  catastrophe,  Mr. 
Chalmers  might  have  remembered  that  there  were  original 
diseases  in  the  world,  as  well  as  original  sin ; and  that  when 
the  coroner’s  inquest  returned  a verdict  of  insanity  after  his 
death,  that  verdict  might  very  possibly  be  correct.  It  is  at 
least  rendered  highly  probable  by  the  fact  that  there  was  a 
decided  insanity  in  his  family.  As  for  the  fame  of  Thomas 
Chatterton,  which  this  biographer  thinks  it  will  not  be  possi- 
ble tb  perpetuate,  Mr.  C.’s  opinion  will  never  be  weighed  in 
the  scale  against  it.  The  history  of  the  Bristol  boy  will 
always  attract  curiosity  to  his  poems,  and  that  curiosity  will 
^e  amply  gratified;  and  whilst  Mr.  Chalmers  states  that  '‘his 
deceptions,  his  prevarications,  his  political  tergiversations,  ^c. 
were  such  as  should  be  looked  for  in  men  of  advanced  aye,  hav' 


e LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 

carried  in  the  pocket.  I think  it  requires  no  com* 
ment. 

He  had,  some  months  since,  commenced  a corre- 
spondimce  with  the  London  periodicals.  The  first 
notice  to  be  found  respecting  his  contributions  is  in 
the  “ Town  and  Country  Magazine,”  for  November, 
1768,  where,  among  the  notices  to  correspondents, 
occurs  the  following — “ D.  B.  of  Bristol’s  favour  will 
be  gladly  received ; ” and  to  this  periodicjal  in  partic- 
ular Dunelmus  Bristoliensis  became  a large  contributor. 
We  subsequently  find  him  writing  for  the  Freeholder’s 
Magazine,  the  Political  Begister,  the  London  Museum, 
the  Gospel  Magazine — which  he  calls  “ methodistical 
and  unmeaning,”  and  adds,  “For  a whim  I write  in 
it” — the  Court  and  City  Journal,  the  Middlesex  Jour- 
nal, &c. ; and  all  this  while,  poem  after  poem,  and 
satire  after  satire,  with  loyal  articles  for  the  ministry, 
and  flaming  invectives  for  the  opposition,  and  glees 
and  songs  and  catches  for  the  public  gardens,  and  light 
squibs  for  the  daily  papers,  and  frothy  abuse,  and 
fuiious  tirades  for  any  hireling  publisher  that  would 
engage  him,  were  pouring  forth  from  this  “pen  of 
a ready  writer.”  Perhaps,  in  the  whole  history  of 
literature,  there  is  scarcely  a similar  instance  of  untir- 
ing industry. 

dened  by  evil  associations,  and  soured  by  disappointed  pride  or 
avarice,'  let  it  be  remembered  that  his  ‘ deceptions  ’ and 
‘ prevarications  * only  relate  to  the  poems  and  papers  attri- 
buted to  Rowley,  which  are  things  very  unlike  the  effect  of 
disappointed  pride  and  avarice!  and  to  call  his  essays  on 
Dolitical  controversy  political  tergiversation,  is  as  preposterous 
^n  abuse  of  language,  as  it  would  be  to  call  Mr.  Chalmers  a 
judicious  critic,  or  candid  biographer.” — Southey,  in  the 
Qiuirierly  Review,  No.  XXII. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


ci 


It  is  hard  to  refrain  from  smiling,  when,  as  in  the 
following  instance,  we  find  our  Boy-Bard,  gravely  and 
with  the  utmost  composure,  addressing  personages  of 
far-removed  dignity,  and  with  a nod  and  wave  of  his 
hand  calling  in  question  the  most  established  authorities. 

“ To  Ralph  Bigland,  Herald, 

“ Sir:  Hearing  you  are  composing  a book  of  Heraldry,  I 
trouble  you  with  this.  Most  of  our  heralds  assert  files  should 
never  be  borne  in  even  numbers.  I have  seen  several  old 
seals  with  four,  six,  eight;  and  in  the  cathedral  here  is  a coat 
of  the  Berkeleys  with  four. 

“ Curious  Chats  in  and  about  Bristol. 

“ Barry  of  6.  Or  and  Azure,  counterchanged  per  Fess,  by 
Gilbert  de  Gaunt.  Argent,  a maunch  Gules  edged,  Or,  verdoy 
of  trefoils,  by  John  Cosier.  Or,  a canton  sable,  by  Delouvis. 
A seal,  Quarterly,  first  and  fourth  on  bend,  3 annulets,  second 
and  third  a head  couped  guttd,  by  the  name  of  Sancto  Lovis, 
to  a deed  dated  1204. 

“ Your  most  humble  servant, 

“ Thomas  Chatterton.” 

About  this  period,  too,  we  have  another  evidence 
of  his  genius  for  fiction — in  which  he  pretty  largelj" 
dealt  at  times — in  his  letter  to  a Mr.  Stephens,  a 
breeches-maker,  of  Salisbury,  who  was  in  some  sort  a 
^elation  of  the  family ; at  the  “ grave  and  sober  advice  ” 
with  which  it  concludes,  “ we  are  mute,”  says  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott,  “ with  astonishment.” 

“ Sir:  If  you  think  vanity  is  the  dictator  of  the  following 
lines,  you  will  not  do  me  justice.  No,  sir,  it  is  only  the  desire 
of  provi  ng  myself  worthy  your  con'espondence  has  induced 
me  to  write.  My  partial  friends  flatter  me  with  giving  me  a 
flttle  uncommon  share  of  abilities.  It  is  Mr.  Stephens  alona 


ftii  LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 

whose  good  sense  disdains  flattery,  whom  I a]»peal  to.  It  is 
a maxim  with  me  that  compliments  of  friends  is  more  dan- 
gerous than  railing  of  enemies.  You  may  inquire,  if  you 
please,  for  the  Toum  and  Country  Magazine^  wherein  all  signed 
‘ D.  B.’  and  ‘ Asaphides,’  are  mine.  The  pieces  called 
Saxon  are  originally  and  totally  the  product  of  my  muse; 
though  I should  think  it  a greater  merit  to  be  able  to  translate 
Saxon.  As  the  said  Magazine  is  by  far  the  best  of  its  kind, 
I shall  have  some  pieces  in  it  every  month ; and  if  I vary 
from  my  said  signature,  will  give  you  notice  thereof.  Having 
some  curious  anecdotes  of  paintings  and  painters,  I sent  them 
to  Mr.  Walpole,  author  of  the  Anecdotes  of  Painting,  Historic 
Doubts,  and  other  pieces  well  known  in  the  learned  world. 
His  answer  I make  bold  to  send  you.  Hence  I began  a lite- 
rary correspondence,  which  ended  as  most  such  do.  I dif- 
fered with  him  in  the  age  of  a MS.  He  insists  on  his  superior 
talents,  which  is  no  proof  of  that  superiority.  We  possibly 
may  publicly  engage  in  one  of  the  periodical  publications; 
though  I know  not  who  Avill  give  the  onset.  Of  my  proceed- 
ings in  this  affair  I shall  make  bold  to  acquaint  you.  My 
next  correspondent  of  note  is  Dodsley,  whose  collection  of 
modern  and  antique  poems  are  in  every  library.  In  this 
city  my  principal  acquaintance  are  Mr.  Barrett,  now  writing, 
at  a vast  expense,  an  ancient  and  modern  History  of  Bristol 
— a task  more  difficult  than  the  cleansing  the  Augean  stable. 
Many  have  attempted,  but  none  succeeded  in  it;  yet  will  this 
work,  when  finished,  please  not  only  my  fellow-citizens,  but 
all  the  world.  Mr.  Catcott,  author  of  that  excellent  treatise 
on  the  Deluge,  and  other  pieces,  to  enumerate  which  would 
argue  a supposition  that  you  were  not  acquainted  with  the 
literary  world.  To  the  studies  of  these  gentlemen  1 am 
always  admitted,  and  they  are  not  below  asking  my  advice 
in  any  matters  of  antiquity.  I have  made  a very  curious 
collection  of  coins  and  antiques.  As  I cannot  afford  to  have 
a goodlabine  to  keep  them  in,  I commonly  give  them  to  those 
who  can.  If  you  pick  up  any  Roman,  Saxon,  English  coins, 
or  other  antiques,  even  a sight  of  them  would  highly  oblige 
me.  When  you  quarter  your  arms  in  the  mullet,  say:  Or,  a 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


cm 


Fess,  Vert  by  the  name  of  Chatterton.  I trace  your  family 
from  Fitz-Stephen,  son  of  Stephen,  Earl  of  Ammerle,  in  1096, 
Bon  of  Od,  Earl  of  Blays,  and  Lord  of  Holderness. 

“lam  your  very  humble  servant, 

“ Thomas  Chatterton.” 

In  such  and  similar  ways  did  our  young  poet  evince 
that  he  had  a pleasant  humour. 

There  is  an  anecdote  preserved  of  him,  which  I 
have  never  seen  recorded,  the  circumstance  of  which 
occurred  about  this  period.  Spending  one  evening 
with  a party  of  intimate  companions,  among  other 
subjects,  the  conversation  turned  upon  suicide ; and 
some  taking  one  side  of  the  argument,  and  some 
another — whether  indeed  it  was  of  bravery  or  cow- 
ardice, the  act  of  self-destruction.  Chatterton  sud- 
denly plucked  from  his  breast  a small  pocket-pistol, 
and,  holding  it  to  his  forehead,  with  resolute  accent 
exclaimed,  “ Now — if  one  had  but  the  courage  to  puli 
the  trigger  ! ” It  was  then,  for  the  first  time,  discov- 
ered that  he  was  in  the  constant  habit  of  carrying  this 
loaded  weapon  about  his  person. 

Whether  in  the  way  of  menace,  or  that  he  actually 
contemplated  such  a deed,  may  be  uncertain;  but, 
shortly  after  this  incident  took  place,  Lambert  found  a 
letter  upon  the  desk  of  his  apprentice,  addressed  to  a 
Mr.  Clayfield,  “a  worthy,  generous  man.”  In  this 
letter  Chatterton  dwelt  upon  his  “distresses,”  and 
avowed  his  resolution  to  put  an  end  to  his  existence 
immediately.  “ On  Mr.  Clayfield’s  receiving  that  let- 
ter, he  (Chatterton)  should  be  no  more.”  Lambert 
became  alarmed ; with  all  haste  despatched  the  epistle 
to  Mr.  Barrett,  who  forthwith  summoned  the  writer  to 
his  closet,  talked  to  him  earnestly  and  seriously; 


LIFE  OP  CHATTERTON. 


civ^ 

‘‘blamed  the  bad  company  and  principles  iie  had 
adopted,”  urging  in  the  most  forcible  manner,  “ the 
horrible  crime  of  self-murder,  however  glossed  over  by 
present  libertines.”  His  arguments  were  in  part  suc- 
cessful ; Chatterton  betrayed  some  compunction — 
shed  tears ; “ at  the  same  time  he  acknowledged  he 
wanted  for  nothing,  and  denied  any  distress  upon  that 
account.”  The  next  day  he  sent  his  adviser  the  fol- 
lowing letter ; — 

“ To  Mr,  Barrett, 

“ Sir  : Upon  recollection,  I don’t  know  how  Mr.  Clayfield 
could  come  by  his  letter,  as  I intended  to  have  given  him  a 
letter,  but  did  not.  In  regard  to  my  motives  for  the  supposed 
rashness,  I shall  observe  that  I keep  no  worse  company  than 
myself ; I never  drink  to  excess,  and  have,  without  vanity, 
too  much  sense  to  be  attached  to  the  mercenary  retailers  of 
iniquity.  No ; it  is  my  pride,  my  damn’d,  native,  uncon- 
querable PRIDE,  that  plunges  me  into  distraction.  You  must 
know  that  nineteen-twentieths  of  my  composition  is  pride. 
I must  either  live  a slave — a servant,  have  no  will  of  my 
own,  which  I may  freely  declare  as  such, — or  die.  Perplex- 
ing alternative!  that  it  distracts  me  to  think  of  it;  I will 
endeavour  to  learn  humility,  but  it  cannot  be  here.  What  it 
will  cost  me  in  the  trial.  Heaven  knows  1 

“ I am,  your  much  obliged,  unhappy, 

“ Humble  servant, 

“ Thursday  Evening,'*’^  “ T.  C. 

His  pride,  his  “ damn’d  pride,”  as  he  calls  it ; “ though 
one  may  doubt,”  says  the  Eclectic  Reviewer,  “ whether 
the  curse  was  pronounced  in  virtue’s  name.”  Perhaps 
not, — probably  not ; but  a feeling  of  virtue,  or  we  are 
much  mistaken,  dictated  this  letter. 

To  glance  at  another  subject.  He  had  now  (March, 
1769,)  written  “ Kew  Gardens,”  his  longest  satirical 


LIFE  OF  CHATTEIITON. 


CV 


performance.  It  consisted  originally  of  1300  lines,  of 
which  200  are  unfortunately  lost.  As  printed  in  this 
edition  it  contains  1094  lines.  This  poem  he  forwarded 
^‘in  different  parcels”  to  a Mr.  Edmunds,  of  Shoe- 
lane,  printer  of  “ a patiiotic  newspaper.”  To  the  first 
packet,  containing  “ about  300  lines,”  was  added  the 
following  postcript.  “ Mr.  Edmunds  will  send  the  au- 
thor, Thomas  Chatterton,  twenty  of  the  Journals  in 
which  the  above  poem  (which  I shall  continue)  shall 
appear,  by  the  machine,  if  he  thinks  proper  to  put  it 
in  ; the  money  shall  be  paid  to  his  orders.” 

“ The  poem,”  remarks  Dr.  Gregory,  “ is  a satire  on 
the  Princess  Dowager  of  Wales,  Lord  Bute,  and  their 
friends  in  London  and  Bristol;  but  particularly  on 
those  in  Bristol,  who  had  distinguished  themselves  in 
favour  of  the  ministry.  His  signature  on  this  occasion 
was  Decimus  ; but  whether  the  poem  was  ever  printed 
or  not,  I have  not  been  able  to  ascertain.”  In  Mr. 
Edmunds’  Journal  it  was  not  printed ; but,  after  the 
posthumous  publication  of  Chatter  ton’s  Miscellanies, 
and  the  Supplement  to  that  work,  there  appeared,  in 
the  form  of  a “ Supplement  to  the  Supplement,”  a 
little  pamphlet  of  eight  pages,  containing  the  first  376 
lines  of  “ Kew  Gardens,”  which  it  is  reasonable  to  con- 
clude were  furnished  from  the  “ first  packet  ” sent  to 
Mr.  Edmunds.  Dr.  Gregory  asserts  that  the  whole  of 
the  poem  was  “ transmitted  in  different  parcels  ” to  the 
same  party.  It  is  not  very  likely,  however,  or  the 
remainder  would  have  appeared  in  the  same  publica- 
tion, especially  as  the  printed  fragment  breaks  suddenly 
Qli‘,  leaving  the  sense  notoriously  leficient.  The  ex- 
istence of  this  pamphlet  was  unknown  to  Southey  in 
1803  About  sixty  of  the  concluding  lines  of  the 


CVl 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


poem  were  published  in  his  edition  of  Chatterton  ; and 
to  these  was  annexed,  as  a note,  “ Every  effort  has 
been  made  to  obtain  the  remainder  of  the  poem,  but 
without  success.”  I am  aware  of  only  one  copy  of 
the  fragment,  which  is  in  the  library  of  the  British 
Museum.  ■ 

Beady-made  satire  Chatterton  always  had  at  hand, 
without  the  labour  of  producing  fresh  material.  He 
had  but  to  transcribe  three  hundred  couplets  from 
“ Kew  Gardens,”  with  here  and  there  a slight  alteration 
or  transposition,  and  the  “ Whore  of  Babylon  ” was 
completed,  the  old  metal  being  fused  in  a fresh  die. 
Several  instances  of  this  mode  of  manufacture  occur . 
in  his  “Acknowledged  Poems,”  (the  Bowley  Creation 
was  too  sacred  to  be  thus  tampered  with  ;)  but,  except 
in  the  above-mentioned  instance,  and  in  that  of  “ The 
Exhibition,”  where  fifty  consecutive  lines  are  taken 
likewise  from  “ Kew  Gardens,”  the  number  of  couplets 
thus  borrowed  from  one  composition  and  transferred 
to  a second,  seldom  exceeds  nine  or  ten.  Undoubtedly 

1 Dix  published  the  “ Kew  Gardens  ” in  his  “ Life  of  Chat- 
terton,” in  1837.  He  says,  “I  have  been  fortunate  enough  to 
procure  a copy  of  the  whole  poem ; and  it  is  here  for  the 
first  time  printed  entire.”  He  did  not,  however,  procure  tlie 
whole  poem ; for  the  hiatus  of  200  lines,  above  referred  to, 
occurs  in  his  publication.  The  real  state  of  the  case  is,  that 
out  of  the  1094  lines  of  “ Kew  Gardens,”  printed  by  Dix, 
only  120  appeared  for  the  “ first  time.”  From  line  496  to 
the  end,  it  is  little  more  than  a transcript  of  “ The  Whore  of 
Babylon;”  indeed  550  lines  are  literally  ihQ  same:  add  t(i 
these  the  376  lines  published  many  years  before,  with  the 
fragment  in  Southey’s  edition,  and  we  find  that  974  lines  of 
the  poem  had  been  before  the  public  for  upwards  of  thirty 
years. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


cvii 


this  poetical  laboratory,  and  chemical  transfusion  and 
transformation,  were  easy  of  construction,  and  nowise 
difficult  in  the  process.  Stans  pede  in  uno  ; one  might 
«n'ite  a bookseller's  shop  full  so. 


vni. 

Literary  career  in  London. 

Little  now  remains  to  be  said  of  Chatterton,  and 
that  little  consists  of  no  stirring  adventures,  and  of  no 
incidents  that  can  satisfy  curiosity  or  afford  amusement 
to  any  but  those  who  love  a simple  story,  and  suffi- 
ciently admire  the  poet*  to  trace  the  history  of  the  man. 
There  are  no  documents  to  which,  we  can  refer  for 
facts ; there  are  no  biographical  notices  which  we  can 
consult  for  a record  of  Chatterton's  town  life.  All 
that  is  to  be  told  must  be  gathered  from  his  own  letters, 
and  woven,  as  best  it  can,  into  the  form  of  a narrative. 

In  our  last  chapter  we  intimated  the  poet’s  resolution 
to  try  his  fortune  in  London.  To  enable  him  to  defray 
the  expenses  of  the  journey,  his  friends  and  acquain- 
tance contributed  a guinea  apiece.i  It  may  seem  a 
strange  inconsistency  that  he,  nineteen-twentieths  of 
whose  composition  was  pride,  should  thus  be  a depend- 
ant on  the  bounty  of  others ; but  no  man  who  has  any 
acquaintance  with  the  workings  of  the  human  heart 
Frill  wonder  at  this.  This  nature  of  ours  is  full  of  con- 
tradictions ; and  pride  and  meanness,  and  generosity 


1 Mr.  Barrett. 


CVlll 


LIFE  OF  CIIATTERTON. 


and  injustice,  are  not  seldom  found  in  close  alliance. 
Perhaps,  too,  in  his  dreams  of  future  greatness,  and 
his  anticipated  discoveries  of  El  Dorados,  he  expected 
to  repay,  and  doubly  repay,  the  debt  which,  after  all, 
Circumstance,  that  unspiritual  god,  had  obliged  him  to 
contract. 

F ull  of  hope,  and  thirstir  g to  attain  the  golden  goal 
— not  only  of  fame,  but  of  wealth  and  station — Chat- 
terton  entered  on  his  London  career.  The  clouds 
which  had  covered  the  sky  in  the  morning  of  life 
seemed  fast  floating  away ; his  moral  atmosphere  grew 
clearer.  The  sun  came  out  in  all  its  strength.  A sott 
ideal  light  lent  enchantment  to  the  world  of  thought 
in  which  he  moved ; he  went  on  his  path  hoping  and 
singing,  and  trusting  soon  to  reach  the  bright  and 
shining  gate  which  his  imagination  had  erected  at  the 
end  of  that  path.;  yet  if  we  consider  his  actual  cir- 
cumstances, there  was  but  httle  ground  for  hope.  Who 
and  what  were  his  allies  ? “ Patrons,  booksellers, 

printers,  publishers  of  Freeholders'^  Magazines^  and 
proprietors  of  Towns  and  Counties ; ” to  these  men 
the  young  poet  sold  himself — say  rather,  sold,  Esau 
like,  his  birthright — the  vision  and  the  faculty  divine 
— for  a mess  of  pottage.  How  could  any  good  come 
out  of  such  a Galilee  as  this  ? What  could  be  looked 
for  but  that  the  creator  should  sink  into  the  scribbler, 
the  poet  into  the  buffoon — a spirit  free,  uncomj>ro- 
mising,  integral,  into  a cliaracter  compromised,  fac- 
tional, and  slavish  ? 

We  must  not,  however,  be  too  severe  on  the  young 
poet.  If  he  threw  away  his  genius,  was  there  not  a 
reason?  Perhaps  none  grieved  more  than  himself 
over  the  new  chara(^ter  which  he  was  obliged  to  assume 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON.  cix 

But  if  man  doth  not  live  by  bread  alone,  it  is  equally 
true  that  he  cannot  live  without  it ; and  the  soul  which 
should  feed  only  on  angels’  food  must  bow  itself  down  to 
the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  in  order  that  its  frail  co-mate, 
the  body,  may  have  “ bread  and  meat  in  the  morning, 
and  bread  and  meat  in  the  evening.” 

Chatterton’s  first  letter  to  his  mother,  which  bears 
date  April  26,  shows  that  he  was  full  of  heart  and 
hope.  He  reached  London  at  five  o’clock  in  the  eve- 
ning ; called  immediately  on  his  friends  Mr.  Edmunds, 
Mr.  Fell,  Mr.  Hamilton,  and  Mr.  Dodsley,  and  met 
with  great  encouragement  from  them.  In  a short  time 
we  find  him  settled,  apparently  much  to  his  own  satis- 
faction, at  Mr.  Walmsley’s.  Mr.  Walmsley  was  a plais- 
terer  of  Shoreditch,  to  whom  Chatterton  had  been 
recommended  by  a relative,  Mrs.  Ballance,  who  resided 
in  the  same  house.  The  poet  looks  forward  more 
eanguinely  than  ever  to  the  future.  He  had  made  an 
ai’rangement  with  the  conductors  of  one  periodical,  by 
which  he  hoped  to  realize  the  sum  of  five  guineas  a 
month.  He  projected  a History  of  England,  and  othei 
pieces,  which  would  more  than  double  that  amount. 
For  money  to  supply  his  hourly  needs  he  trusted  to 
occasional  essays  for  the  daily  papers.  He  had  been 
uitroduced  to  Mr.  Wilkes,  and  on  the  strength  of  his 
acquaintance  with  that  gentleman  he  no  longer  con- 
fined bis  hopes  of  success  to  himself,  but  ventured  to 
extend  them  to  others.  By  his  interest  he  would  insure 
Mrs.  Ballance  the  Trinity  House.  He  had  grown 
familiar  at  the  Chapter  Coffee-House,  and  knew  all 
the  geniuses  there.  A character  was  now  unnecessary ; 
an  author  carried  his  character  in  his  pen. 

Such  were  the  prospects — such  the  dreams  of  the 


ex 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


Boy-Bard.  Let  us  now  trace  the  literary  career  which 
he  had  prescribed  himself,  and  see  what  was  its  nature 
and  what  its  results. 

He  seems  to  have  made  his  dehut  in  the  Freeholders* 
Magazine^  as  may  be  inferred  from  a letter  which  he 
addressed  to  his  friend,  Mr.  Cary,  about  this  time,  in 
which  he  requested  him  to  tell  all  his  acquaintance  for 
the  future  to  read  this  periodical,  and  to  forward  him 
any  contributions  which  he  might  have  for  publication. 
In  the  following  week  he  contracted,  in  the  pit  of 
Drury-Lane  theatre,  an  acquaintance  with  a young 
gentleman  in  Cheapside,  who  was  a partner  in  a music- 
shop.  When  he  discovered  that  Chatterton  could 
write,  he  desired  him  to  compose  a few  songs  for  him. 
These  were  shown  to  a Doctor  of  Music,  and  he  was 
invited  to  treat  with  the  Doctor  on  the  footing  of  a 
composer,  for  Ranelagh  and  the  Gardens.  He  now 
grew  affluent — comparatively  at  least,  for  all  things  in 
this  world  go  by  comparison.  He  employed  his  money 
in  dressing  fashionably — but  only  as  a means  to  an 
end — an  introduction  into  good  society.  He  informs 
us  that  he  had  engaged  to  live  with  the  brother  of  a 
Scotch  Lord,  who  was  speculating  in  the  book-selling 
branches.  As  a compensation  he  was  to  have  board 
and  lodging  gratis.  Chatterton  considered  this  a great 
step  in  his  royal-road  to  fame  and  wealth.  In  the  first 
flush  of  joy  and  hope  he  promised  his  sister  a hand- 
some provision ; every  month  was  to  end  to  her  ad- 
vantage— she  was  “ to  walk  in  silk  attire,  and  siller 
hae  in  store.”  His  mother  was  not  forgotten  ; for  her 
too  there  were  presents, — London  gauds  and  Parisian 
vanities,  and  intimations  of  more  substantial  assistance. 
And  why  should  we  omit  to  mention  the  tobacco  for 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


CXI 


his  grandmother — British  herb  too — and  the  trifles  for 
Thorne  ? Simplest  articles  of  household  use,  but  not 
without  a meaning  to  the  thoughtful  heart ; for  surely 
they  shadow  forth,  darkly  and  imperfectly  though  it 
be,  the  character  of  this  Boy-King  of  Song.  Tameless, 
and  swift,  and  proud — contemning  the  world,  and 
scorning  the  herd  of  mankind — he  had  yet  a heart  full 
of  home-affections,  and  an  intellect  that  could  descend 
to  things  of  mean  and  trifling  nature  when  they  had 
reference  to  a mother,  a sister,  or  a friend.  Let  us  do 
justice  to  Chatterton ; and  if  we  are  to  make  the  most 
of  his  vices,  let  us  not  forget  to  make  the  most  of  his 
virtues. 

Chatterton  next  projected  a voluminous  History  of 
London,  which  was  to  appear  in  numbers.  He  antici- 
pated great  success,  and  no  small  profit ; and,  in  his 
letter  to  his  sister,  exults  in  the  idea  that  this  design 
would  not  involve  him  in  those  expenses  which  his 
other  literary  labours  obliged  him  to  incur,  as  he  should 
not  be  compelled  to  go  to  the  coffee-house ; and  thus, 
he  adds,  “ I shall  he  able  to  serve  you  the  more  by  itJ* 
It  is  needless  to  add  that  this  scheme  was  abandoned ; 
the  beautiful  sentiment  which  it  was  the  means  of  sug  » 
gesting  can  never  die. 

Chatterton  was  unusually  elated.  He  had  forwarded, 
an  essay  to  Beckford,  the  Lord  Mayor.  It  was  re- 
ceived favourably.  This  encouraged  the  author  to 
wait  on  the  patriot,  to  procure  his  approbation  to  ad- 
dress a second  letter  to  him  on  the  subject  of  the 
remonstrance  and  its  reception.  His  lordship  received 
him  politely,  and  warmly  invited  him  to  call  again. 
The  rest  was  a secret.  He  evidently  magnifies  the 
advantages  whkh  he  thought  awaited  him;  he  sees 
VOL.  I.  H 


fXll 


LIFE  OF  CHATTEUTON. 


through  a false  medium,  and  the  distant  prospects  look 
faij-er  and  more  dilated  in  the  discoloured  atmosphere 
of'  thought,  just  as  the  walls  and  towers  of  a city  rise 
larger  and  brighter  in  the  purple  mist  of  a summer  s 
morning.  The  last  clause  which  I have  quoted  evinces 
that,  like  Byron,  Chatterton  loved  a little  mystification. 

We  come  now  to  his  political  career — one  more 
difiicult  to  excuse,  perhaps,  than  any  other ; at  any 
rate  the  most  unpleasant  to  touch  upon.  It  is  not 
fair,  however,  to  deal  with  Chatterton  as  we  should 
with  one  who  had  come  to  the  full  stature  of  a man, 
and  who  had  no  temptation  to  induce  him  to  trifle 
with  his  principles. 

Let  us  reflect  that  the  writer  was  but  a boy, — a boy 
of  an  ardent  and  passionate  temperament,  thirsting  for 
distinction,  anxious  to  acquire  a name,  thwarted  by 
fortune,  without  friends,  save  those  who  were  so  in 
vord  only,  and  without  hopes,  save  such  as  arose  from 
the  light  of  his  own  genius.  He  looked  forward  to 
the  time  when  he  should  be  able  to  build  up  a strong 
and  durable  monument  of  fame ; when  his  Imagination 
should  be  strengthened,  his  intellect  matured,  and  his 
ambition  become  clear  and  well  defined ; but  mean- 
while, it  was  necessary  to  do  something.  The  daily 
bread  must  be  had,  and  the  warm  coat  purchased,  and 
a thousand  other  poor  necessities  satisfied ; and  to 
attain  such  consummation,  the  essay  must  be  produced, 
a-nd  the  guinea  earned.  Something  of  vanity,  too, 
undoubtedly  prevailed  in  Chatterton’s  “ moral  man,’" 
and  in  this  instance  it  forcibly  demonstrates  itself.  He 
was  delighted  to  have  an  opportunity  of  showing  the 
world  what  he  could  do ; it  was  a sort  of  petty  triumph, 
a kind  of  literary  ovation,  to  find  himself  necessary 


LIFE  OF  CIIATTERTON. 


CXlll 


a political  partizan, — to  find  that  the  despised  appren- 
tice of  Bristol  was  able  to  deal  the  cards  at  the  state 
soirees^  and  to  dream  that  there  was  some  probability 
of  his  holding  all  the  trumps,  or  at  least  having  the 
honours  in  his  own  hand.  No  wonder  that  the  gin- 
and- water  of  notoriety  and  vulgar  applause  intoxicated 
the  young  aspirant,  and  led  him  to  shuffle^  when  he 
should  have  played  his  game  boldly  and  candidly. 
There  was  more  of  levity  than  licentiousness  in  this 
conduct;  more  of  the  desire — silly  and  low  enough 
for  him  who  could  create  as  well  as  scribble — to  show 
with  what  facility  the  child  of  seventeen  could  prove 
a point  one  day  and  refute  it  the  next ; more  of  the 
acuteness  of  the  special  pleader  than  the  apostasy  of 
the  statesman  ; and,  to  finish  the  climax,  more  of  scorn 
for  his  employers,  and  for  mankind  generally,  we  fear, 
than  anxiety  for  either  the  good  or  the  bad  cause.  By 
what  figure  of  rhetoric  such  a transaction  as  this  could 
be  styled  political  tergiversation^  we  confess  ourselves 
at  a loss  to  discover,  unless,  as  Southey  intimates,  it 
be  by  the  same  figure  which  associates  the  ideas  of 
“ Chalmers  and  infallibility.” 

Chatterton  thought  but  little  of  the  merits  of  the 
popular  leaders  at  that  time,  although  his  inclination 
would  necessarily  have  led  him  to  espouse  what  has 
been  called  the  cause  of  the  people,  had  he  ever 
ventured  in  real  earnest  to  contend  in  the  arena  of 
politics.  This  is  evident  from  many  passages  in  his 
letters,  but  from  none  so  strongly  as  this. 

“ Essays,”  he  writes  to  his  sister,  “ fetch  no  more 
than  what  the  copy  is  sold  for ; as  the  patriots  them- 
Belves  are  searching  for  a place,  they  have  no  gratu- 
•ties  to  spare.  On  the  other  hand,”  he  continues, 


exiv 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


“ unpopular  essays  will  not  even  be  accepted,  and  you 
must  pay  to  have  them  printed ; but  then  you  seldom 
lose  by  it.  Courtiers  are  so  sensible  of  their  deficiency 
in  merit,  that  they  generally  reward  all  who  know  how 
to  daub  them  with  an  appearance  of  it.” 

Strong  evidence  this,  if  any  were  wanted,  that 
penury,  not  policy,  was  Chatterton's  principle  of  ac- 
tion, and  that  his  contempt  was  equally  directed 
against  both  parties.  To  reflect  on  the  poverty,  pain 
of  heart,  distress,  and  solitude  of  the  marvellous  boy; 
to  see  the  creative  genius  descend  from  his  throne  of 
melodious  thought,  to  mingle  with  the  creeping  things 
that  went  into  the  great  Noah’s-ark  of  Mammon,  gives 
one  far  more  sorrow  than  his  political  tergiversation^  as 
one  of  his  biographers  has  chosen  to  style  this  juvenile 
display  of  intellectual  sleight-of-hand. 

We  shall  make  but  few  remarks  on  these  celebrated 
letters.  Chatterton’s  model  appears  to  have  been 
Junius,  and  he  has  cleverly  imitated  the  inimitable. 
The  structure  of  the  sentence  is  not  dissimilar,  and 
there  is  no  deficiency  of  trope  and  antithesis ; but  the 
delicate  irony  and  the  caustic  sarcasm  of  that  fearless 
writer,  and  the  polished  diction,  and  the  exquisite 
unfolding  of  the  expression,  are  sought  in  vain.  In- 
stead of  these,  we  have  what  Shelley  would  call  a 
mixture  of  wormwood  and  verdigrease;  well  turned 
periods.,  full  of  sound  and  fury,  but  signifying  nothing, 
and  a sort  of  Bombastes  Furioso  taking  to  task,  infi- 
nitely amusing  when  we  reflect  on  the  age  and  cir- 
cumstances of  the  wiiter.  Still,  the  political  letters 
tre  remarkable  productions,  and  really  wonderful  for  a 
boy.  They  are  remarkable  for  their  energy,  for  their 
spirit,  and  for  the  readiness  which  they  evince  their 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


CXV 


author  to  have  possessed,  m assuming  and  sustaining 
the  style  of  thought  and  language  of  an  old  and  prac- 
tised composer.  Chatterton  put  on  the  lion’s  skin, 
and  if  we  may  be  allowed  so  colloquial  an  expression, 
made  an  ass  of  himself ; had  he  thought  fit,  he  might 
have  raised  his  human  voice,  for  like  Homer’s  heroes 
he  was  an  articulate-speaking  man,  and  have  put  the 
lion  himself  to  flight. 

It  may  be  as  well  to  indicate  the  two  letters  which 
called  down  on  poor  Chatterton  the  indignation  of  this 
virtuous  biographer.  They  were  written  after  the 
death  of  Beckford : one  of  them  was  addressed  to 
Lord  North,  signed  Moderator,  complimenting 
Administration,  for  rejecting  the  City  remonstrance ; 
the  other,  which  bore  the  same  date,  and  was  signed 
Probus,  was  addressed  to  the  Lord  Mayor,  probably 
in  consequence  of  the  permission  which  Chatterton 
obtained  from  him,  and  contained  a virulent  invective 
against  the  government,  for  the  identical  measure 
which  had  been  reprobated  by  the  former.  Both  bear 
date  May  26th,  1770.  The  one  connnenced,  “My 
Lord,  it  gives  me  painful  pleasure ; ” and  the  other, 
“ When  the  endeavours  of  a spirited  people  to  free 
themselves  from  insupportable  slavery.” 

There  is  a hectic  gayety  about  Chatterton’s  letters? 
to  his  mother  and  sister,  a boastful  proclamation  and 
unnatural  iteration  of  his  importance,  and  of  the  mag- 
nificent prospects  which  awaited  him,  as  though  it 
were  only  by,the  continued  reassertion  that  he  him- 
self could  believe  in  the  wealth  and  fame  which  he 
anticipated.  Thus,  in  one  place,  he  speaks  of  “an 
%ulhor  who  would  have  introduced  him  as  a companion 
"0  the  young  Duke  of  Northumoerland^  in  his  hitended 


CXvi  LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 

general  lour  in  another,  of  his  future  recognition  l>y 
“a  ruling  power  in  the  Court  party  and  in  a third, 
in  a burst  of  enthusiastic  vanity,  he  tells  us,  “My 
company  is  courted  everywhere— I must  be  among 
the  great : state  matters  suit  me  better  than  commer- 
cial.” Poor  Chatterton ! well  sung  the  poet  of  Chris- 
tabel,  Life  is  thorny  and  youth  is  vain;  and  the 
thorniness  of  the  one  fostered,  if  it  did  not  engender, 
the  vanity  of  the  other,  in  the  instance  which  we  are 
considering. 

The  history  of  Chatterton ’s  literary  career  in  London 
must  not  be  recorded  without  some  annotations  on  the 
remainder  of  his  prose  compositions.  These  are  readily 
enumerated — Adventures  of  a Star,  Maria  Friendless, 
The  Unfortunate  Fathers,  Tony  Selwood,  The  False 
Step,  The  Hunter  of  Oddities,'  Cutholf,  a Saxon 
poem,  and  a few  other  slight  pieces.  They  appeared 
in  the  Gospel  Magazine,  Town  and  Country,  Court 
and  City,  London,  and  the  Political  Register.  Some 
of  them  are  of  considerable  merit,  though  utterly 
unv/orthy  of  the  minstrel  who  sang  “ how  dauntless 
iElla  frayed  the  Dacyan  foes.”  They  are  light  essays, 
modelled  on  those  of  Steele,  Addison,  and  other  writers 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  but  scarcely  deserving  of  a 
second  perusal.  Their  characteristics  are,  accuracy 
of  observation,  a tolerable  acquaintance  with  the  moi^e 
prominent  features  of  a town  life,  humorous  expression, 
and  a facile  adaptation  of  the  peculiarities  which  are 
required  for  this  species  of  composition.  Indeed,  they 
arf3  chiefly  valuable  for  the  light  which  they  throw  on 

i The  genuineness  of  many  of  these  pieces  is  exceedingly 
questionable. 


LIFE  OP  CHATTERTON. 


CXVll 


the  intellectual  organization  of  Chatterton ; evincing 
the  readiness  with  which  he  could  attain  any  ki:.owledge 
whose  acquisition  he  coveted ; the  perfect  management 
which  he  possessed  of  his  pen,  his  mastery  of  any  style 
of  thought  or  expression,  and  the  di versatility  and 
prodigal  luxuriance  of  his  prematurely  ripened  genius. 
Chatterton’s  favourite  maxim  was,  that  man  is  equal  to 
anything,  and  that  there  was  nothing  which  could  not 
be  achieved  by  diligence.  Unlike  others,  he  was  not 
satisfied  with  the  bare  enunciation  of  the  proposition ; 
every  action  of  his  life  and  every  exercise  of  his  mind 
was  employed  in  its  demonstration.  His  knowledge 
of  antiquities  was  wonderful,  but  it  was  a study  which 
he  pursued  con  amove.  The  letter  of  Tony  Selwood 
derives  its  principal  charm  from  this  circumstance.  It 
is  quite  unnecessary  to  comment  on  each  of  these  pro- 
ductions ; the  tales  apparently  do  not  aim  at  origi- 
nality— indeed  one  of  them,  the  story  of  Maria  Friend- 
less, is  an  old  acquaintance  in  a new  dress;  it  is  a 
“ masqued  resurrection  ” of  Misella  in  the  Rambler. 

Chatterton  seems  to  have  been  fond  of  the  poetical 
memoranda  which  Macpherson  was  pleaf.ed  to  christen 
the  Poems  of  Ossian ; probably  more  from  their  preten- 
sions to  ancientry,  than  any  real  admiration  of  those 
turgid  heroics.  At  Bristol,  he  favoured  the  world 
with  a host  of  imitations.  He  had  observed,  as 
Wordsworth  remarks,  how  few  critics  were  able  to 
distinguish  between  a real  ancient  medal,  and  a coun- 
terfeit of  modern  manufacture;  and  he  set  himself 
to  the  work  of  filling  a magazine  with  Saxon  poemsi^ 
counterparts  of  those  of  Ossian,  as  like  his  as  one  of 
his  misty  stars  is  to  another.  The  last  of  his  efforts  in 
►his  line  was  Cutholf ; it  seems  to  be  no  way  dissimilar 


cxviii  LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 

to  those  which  he  published  at  Bristol;  and,  if  not 
stolen  from  the  smithie  of  the  “ impudent  Highlander,” 
it  bears  every  appearance  of  being  forged  on  his 
anvil. 

Among  the  poetical  productions  which  he  published 
in  London,  are  the  African  Eclogues,  characterized  by 
himself  in  a letter  to  a friend  “ as  the  only  two  pieces 
of  mine  I have  the  vanity  to  call  poetry.”  The  vei^ 
sification  is  strong,  melodious,  and  original.  The  loves 
of  Narva  and  Mored  are  powerfully  recited.  There 
is  a picturesque  liveliness  in  this  pastoral  which  is 
exceedingly  alluring.  It  has  many  felicitous  expres- 
sions, and  perhaps  may  be  natural  in  Africa,  but  it 
certainly  is  not  so  in  England.  The  same  criticism 
may  be  applied  to  The  Death  of  Nicou. 

We  shall  only  mention  one  more  metrical  produc- 
tion of  Chatterton’s — The  Revenge,  a Burletta.  He 
is  said  to  have  received  five  guineas  for  it,  from  the 
proprietor  of  Mary-le-bone  Gardens,  where  it  was 
performed  after  his  death.  It  is  light,  airy,  amusing, 
and  comic, — but,  like  most  of  his  acknowledged  poems, 
confers  but  little  honour  on  the  author;  it  is  useful  as 
a further  illustration  of  the  varied  powers  of  the 
Bristol  Boy;  but  we  sigh  to  think  that  the  royal  child 
of  song  should  abdicate  the  throne  of  his  wide  domin- 
ion, to  become  the  poor  usurper  of  a petty  province 


riFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


CXIX 


IX. 

Ckatterton  changes  his  residence — His  poverty  and 
despair — African  scheme — His  death. 

Hitherto,  Chatterton  had  resided  in  the  house  of 
Mr.  Walmsley.  Devoted  to  literary  pursuits,  and 
dreaming  of  future  glory  never  to  be  realized,  he  led 
at  once  the  life  of  a poet  and  philosopher.  Notwith- 
standing the  strong  and  ungovernable  passions  of  this 
child  of  impulse,  and  despite  the  fascinations  of  the 
gay  and  ghttering  metropolis,  and  his  want  of  any 
settled  principle  of  conduct,  or  any  rule  of  life  more 
trustworthy  than  his  own  self-organized  code  of  the 
laws  of  honour,  he  lived  purely  and  virtuously,  and 
kept  up  his  fair  fame  both  as  man  and  poet.  We  have 
the  testimony  of  Mrs.  Ballance,  that  during  a residence 
of  nine  weeks  under  the  same  roof  with  herself,  he 
invariably  conformed  to  the  hours  which  regulated  the 
movements  of  the  family,  and  that  only  on  one  occa- 
sion was  “ he  absent  a whole  night,  when  she  knew 
that  he  slept  at  the  house  of  a relative.”  This  seems 
a sufficient  refutation  of  the  charges  of  libertine  and 
dissipated  habits,  which  the  calumniators  of  Chatterton 
have  advanced  against  him ; and  if  he  had  not  been 
the  unquestionable  genius  that  he  was,  the  brotherhood 
of  poets  would  yet  owe  him  a debt  of  gratitude,  for 
having  exhibited  to  the  world  a bright  and  beautiful 
example  of  the  ideal  Creator;  knowing  no  desire 
which  genius  did  not  hallow,  and  possessed  of  a heart 
which  kept  pure  the  holy  forms  of  young  imagination.^ 


I Wordsworth. 


cxx 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


His  temperance  should  be  imitated  by  all,  and  Iiis 
abstinence  might  be  emulated,  but  hardly  surpassed 
by  the  anchorite.  The  morsel  of  bread,  the  penny 
tart  and  draught  of  spring  water,  the  wine-cup 
untasted,  and  the  strong  drink  avoided,  will  surely 
exonerate  Chatterton  from  the  imputation  of  being  a 
voluptuary,  even  if  he  escape  not  the  taint  of  dissolute 
tongues,  and  jealousy  and  hate.  His  affection,  his 
brotherly  and  filial  love,  the  undeviating  kindness  and 
attentive  solicitude,  which  he  exhibited  towards  the 
members  of  his  own  family,  and  substantial  3;Ssi stance 
which  he  rendered  his  mother  and  his  sister,  when  in 
actual  want  himself,  demonstrate  the  natural  excel- 
lency and  amiability  of  his  heart,  and  afford  a con- 
vincing proof  that  poetry  and  piety  are  in  closer 
conjunction  than  many  suppose. 

Chatterton  had  now  lived  nine  weeks  at  Shoreditch 
The  month  of  July  had  commenced,  the  summer  was 
far  advanced — but  the  golden  visions  of  the  young 
enthusiast  were  still  the  baseless  fabric  of  a dream. 
His  patron,  Beckford,  was  dead,  and  with  him  his 
political  hopes  seem  to  have  expired;  his  finances 
were  contracted ; the  liberality  of  the  booksellers  had 
proved  a delusion ; hope  no  longer  encouraged  him  to 
look  to  the  future,  and  faith  in  the  Saviour  had  no 
existence  in  the  heart  of  the  inspired  lyrist.  The  boy 
of  seventeen  had  learnt  to  doubt,  and  he  had  not 
lived  long  enough  in  the  school  of  Epicurus  to  learn 
the  vanity  of  the  no-faith  which  he  had  adopted.  A 
few  years  more  of  doubt  and  darkness,  and  his  vigorous 
intellect  would  have  enabled  him  to  explore  his  way 
through  the  subterranean  gloom  of  skepticism,  and  to 
reach  the  upper  world  where  the  true  light  shineth. 
Alas ! those  few  years  never  came. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


CXXI 


Early  in  July,  Chatterton  changed  his  residence. 
From  Shoreditch  he  removed  to  No.  4,  Brook-street, 
Holborn.t  Mrs.  Angel  was  now  his  landlady.  Her 
occupation  was  that  of  a sack,  or  dress-maker;  and 
whatever  be  its  own  appropriate  degree  of  estimation, 
it  derives  an  adventitious  honour  from  its  association 
with  the  latest  memories  of  the  gifted  Boy  of  Bristol. 
The  cause  of  his  removal  is  unknown — some  impute  it 
to  necessity,  and  some  to  the  pride  that  would  conceal 
from  the  inquisition  of  friends  the  fall  of  the  golden 
image  which  he  had  set  up.  Most  probably  the  latter 
motive  was  the  real  one. 

It  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  state  in  this  place  the 
remuneration  which  the  poet  received  for  the  slavery 
in  which  he  was  held  by  the  booksellers  who  favoured 
him  with  their  magnificent  patronage.  We  give  the 
following  extract  from  Chatterton^s  pocket-book.  It 
sufficiently  demonstrates  the  futility  of  his  literary 
projects : — 

£ s.  d. 

Received  to  May  23,  of  Mr.  Hamilton  for  Middlesex,  1 11  6 


(( 

of  B 

, 

1 

2 3 

u 

of  Fell,  for  the  Consuliad,  • 

, 

0 

10  6 

t( 

of  Mr.  Hamilton,  for  Candidus  and  Foreign 

Journal,  ... 

, 

0 

2 0 

u 

of  Mr.  Fell,  . 

0 

10  6 

u 

Middlesex  Journal,  • • 

0 

8 6 

a 

Mr.  Hamilton,  for  16  Songs,  • 

• 

0 

10  6 

4 

15  9 

1 Mrs.  Angel  resided  at  No.  4,  Brook-street,  Holborn.  In 
1789,  Mr.  Oldham  purchased  this  house  together  with  the 
idjoining  houses  on  either  side  of  it,  and  converted  them 
ffito  a stove  and  grate  manufactory.  The  premises  exist  at 


cxxii 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


In  another  part  of  this  little  book,  shortly  before  he 
found  himself  confronted  by  starvation  and  death,  he 
has  inserted  a memorandum  intimating  that  the  sum 
of  eleven  pounds  was  due  to  him  from  the  London 
publishers.  It  was  a cruel  fate  to  be  compelled  to 
turn  literary  drudge  with  five-and-twenty-shillings  a 
month  for  wages ; and  more  cruel  still  to  be  doomed 
to  suffer  all  the  pains  of  hunger,  because  those  wages 
were  not  paid. 

But  the  dream  was  not  quite  completed  yet.  There 
was  still  one  hope  left — a straw  on  the  waters  for  the 
drowning  man  to  grasp.  In  his  misery  and  poverty  he 
applied  to  his  friend  Mr.  Barrett,  to  procure  him  a 
situation  as  surgeon’s  mate  to  the  coast  of  Africa. 
This  was  a downfall  indeed  for  the  aspirant  after 
wealth  and  distinction ; the  enthusiasm  and  the  glory 
and  the  exultation  of  his  bright  and  shining  youth 
were  gone ; the  ladder  on  which  he  had  hoped  to  have 
climbed  to  the  heaven  of  greatness  was  withdrawn ; 
and  the  sleeper  awoke  to  find  that  his  only  pillow  was 
a stone,  and  that  he  must  exchange  his  communings 
with  angels  for  intercourse  with  cold  and  heartless 
men. 

The  application  was  made  in  vain.  Mr.  Barrett 
refused  him  the  recommendatory  letter  which  was 
required;  and  as  Chatterton  was  manifestly  incom- 
petent to  discharge  the  duties  of  the  appointment 

the  present  time  as  left  by  Mr.  Oldham,  and  are  now  occupied 
by  an  upholsterer  and  cabinet-maker;  they  extend  from 
Holborn  to  No.  6,  Brook-street.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to 
inform  our  readers,  that  it  is  no  longer  possible  to  recognize 
the  house  in  which  Chatterton  closed  his  life  of  sorrow,  in 
despair  and  madness. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


CXXlll 


?vliicli  he  had  hoped  to  procure  through  his  interest, 
Mr.  Barrett’s  refusal  was  perfectly  justifiable, — in  fact, 
great  blame  would  have  attached  to  him  if  he  had 
acted  otherwise.  It  was  at  this  period  that  the  African 
Eclogues  were  written.  Chatterton  could  still  solace 
himself  with  the  divine  employment  of  the  muse,  and 
the  inspiration  which  a transient  gleam  of  hope  lent 
him,  enabled  him  to  sing,  but  in  no  very  truthful  or 
natural  strains : — 

“ Of  Tiber’s  banks  where  scarlet  jasmines  bloom, 

And  purple  aloes  shed  a rich  perfume : 

Where,  when  the  sun  is  melting  in  his  heat, 

The  reeking  tigers  find  a cool  retreat; 

Bask  in  the  sedges,  lose  the  sultry  beam. 

And  wanton  with  their  shadows  in  the  stream.” 

Chatterton’s  last  hope  had  failed.  He  was  friendless, 
lone,  and  unassisted.  He  had  fallen  on  evil  days,  and 
could  now  only  look  forward  to  the  time,  fast  ap- 
proaching, in  which  he  should  be  a wanderer  and  an 
outcast.  What  wonder  then  if  in  his  dark  and  deep 
distress,  “ self-contempt  drowned  youth’s  starlight 
smiles  in  tears,”  and  the  victim  proudly  and  angrily 
refused  to  be  fed — to  be  kept  alive — by  the  bread  of 
charity.  Once  only  the  pride  of  the  heart  was  sub- 
dued by  the  frailty  of  the  flesh,  and  he  partook  of  the 
proffered  bounty.  It  is  Warton  who  records  that  an 
oyster  feast  prevailed  on  him  to  forego  his  dignity  for 
a while,  and  to  accept  the  hospitality  of  Mr.  Cross,  an 
apothecary,  of  Brook-street.  This  was  Chatterton’s 
last  meal.  Nothing  could  induce  him  again  to  satisfy 
his  hung3r  at  another’s  expense.  Mrs.  Angel  stated, 
4iat  for  two  ov  three  days  he  was  a prisoner  in  his 


CXXIV 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


room,  and  that  when  she  begged  him  to  take  some 
dinner  with  her,  knowing  that  he  had  eaten  nothing 
throughout  that  period,  he  was  offended  at  her  expres- 
sions— refused  the  invitation,  and  assured  her  that  he 
was  not  hungry. 

“ Three  days  before  his  death,  when  walking  with  a 
friend  in  St.  Pancras’  churchyard,  reading  the  epitaphs, 
he  was  so  deep  in  thought  as  he  walked  on,  that  not 
perceiving  a grave  which  was  just  dug,  he  fell  into  it ; 
his  friend,  observing  his  situation,  came  to  his  assistr 
ance,  and  as  he  helped  him  out,  told  him,  in  a jocular 
mjinner,  he  was  happy  in  beholding  the  resurrection 
of  genius.  Poor  Chatterton  smiled,  and  taking  his 
companion  by  the  arm,  replied,  “ My  dear  friend,  I 
fot^l  the  sting  of  a speedy  dissolution  ; I have  been  at 
war  with  the  grave  for  some  time,  and  find  it  is  not  sc 
easy  to  vanquish  as  I imagined ; we  can  find  an  asylum 
from  every  creditor  but  that.^’  ^ 

The  hour  had  arrived ; there  was  no  hope,  no  help 
on  earth—  his  prospects  were  blighted,  and  his  friends 
had  forsaken  or  forgotten  him. 

“ Then  black  despair. 

The  shadow  of  a starless  night,  was  thrown 
Over  the  earth  in  which  he  moved  alone.”  2 
“ The  world,  for  so  it  thought. 

Owed  him  no  service ; wherefore  he  at  once 
With  indignation  turned  himself  away. 

And  with  the  food  of  pride  sustained  his  soul 

In  solitude.’’^ 

1 Dix’s  Life  of  Chatterton,  p.  290. 

3 Shelley. 

8 Wordsworth. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


CXXT 


These  verses  describe  more  forcibly  and  lucidly  than 
tve  can  do,  the  pain  of  heart,  the  sense  of  loneliness, 
the  utter  prostration  of  spirit,  and  the  indignant  per- 
ception of  wrong,  of  which  Chatterton  was  the  prey. 
It  is  not  our  intention  to  profane  the  chamber  of  death, 
or  to  portray  with  unavailing  and  thankless  minute- 
ness, the  dark  imamninors  and  mental  convulsions  of 
“ the  sleepless  boy  that  perished  in  his  pride.”  The 
fearful  retrospect  and  the  gloomy  anticipation — 
the  bitter  thoughts,  inflamed  and  exasperated  by  the 
knowledge  of  what  he  might  have  been,  contrasted 
with  the  consciousness  of  what  he  was — the  strong  man 
bowed  down  by  physical  suffering — the  failing  of  heart 
and  flesh — the  overwrought  brain — the  humiliation — 
the  despair — the  final  madness — the  solemn  agony, 
and  sublime  death  of  the  martyred  poet,  are  not  to  be 
coldly  delineated  in  words,  but  are  to  be  realized  by 
the  thinking  and  sympathetic  heart  alone.  To  record 
briefly  the  manner  of  his  departure  from  this  world, 
in  which  we  are  all  pilgrims  and  strangers,  would  seem 
all  that  is  now  necessary. 

On  the  24th  of  August,  1770,  Chatterton  resolved 
to  close  his  life  of  misery  and  privation.  The  suicide 
was  effected  by  arsenic  mixed  in  water ; such  at  least 
was  the  opinion  of  the  most  competent  authorities. 
On  the  following  day  his  room  was  broken  open.  The 
floor  was  covered  with  a multitude  of  small  fragments 
of  paper;  an  evidence  that  he  had  destroyed  all  the 
unfinished  productions  of  his  marvellous  intellect. 
There  was  no  letter  to  his  friends — no  apologetic  ex- 
planation of  the  terrible  step  which  he  had  taken — 
not  a single  line  ^ to  satisfy  the  curious  and  to  console 

1 J.  R.  Dix,  Esq.,  has  politely  communicated  to  us  the  fol- 


CXXVl 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTOxN. 


the  afHicted,  or  to  demonstrate  that  Chatterton  had 
died  sane  or  insane — Christian  or  unbeliever.  The 
body  lay  lifeless  and  collapsed ; the  earth  was  ready  to 
be  mingled  with  its  kindred  earth,  and  the  spirit  had 
returned  to  God  who  gave  it. 

“ Cut  was  the  branch  that  might  have  grown  full  straight, 
And  burned  was  Apollo’s  laurel  bough.” 


lowing  lines,  (never  before  published,)  which  he  states  to  have 
been  found  in  Chatterton’s  pocket-book  after  his  death.  They 
were  given  to  Mr.  Dix  by  Joseph  Cottle,  who  received  them 
from  Mrs.  Newton,  but  too  late  for  insertion  in  his  edition 
of  Chatterton’s  Works.  C. 

THE  LAST  VERSES  WRITTEN  BY  CHATTERTON. 
Farewell,  Bristolia’s  dingy  piles  of  brick, 

Lovers  of  Mammon,  worshippers  of  Trick! 

Ye  spurned  the  boy  who  gave  you  antique  lays, 

And  paid  for  learning  with  your  empty  praise. 

Farewell,  ye  guzzling,  aldermanic  fools. 

By  nature  fitted  for  Corruption’s  tools! 

T go  to  where  celestial  anthems  swell; 

But  you,  when  you  depart,  will  sink  to  Hell. 

Farewell,  my  Mother ! — cease,  my  anguished  soul, 

Nor  let  Distraction’s  billows  o’er  me  roll ! — 

Have  mercy,  Heaven ! when  here  I cease  to  live. 

And  this  last  act  of  wretchedness  forgive  I 
Augutt  24,  1770.  T.  C. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


cxxvii 


X. 

The  Burial — Inquest — Personal  appearayjce  of  Chat* 
terton — Character,  and  concluding  remarks. 

Thus  died  Thomas  Chatterton,  aged  seventeen 
years  and  nine  months;  the  victim  of  despair  and 
want  acting  on  a stormy  and  oestnous  spirit,  and  en- 
gendering a state  of  mind  closely  allied  to  insanity,  if 
indeed  it  were  not  madness  itself.  “ Chatterton,”  said 
Lord  Byron,  “7  think  was  mad.”  In  charity,  if  not 
from  conviction,  let  the  reader  think  so  too.  He  died 
— a coroner’s  inquest  was  held,‘^  a verdict  of  insanity 
was  returned,  and  the  poet  was  buried  among  paupers 
in  Shoe  Lane;  and  this  without  a single  question 
being  asked,  or  any  inquiry  being  instituted  by  his 
friends  or  patrons.  Indeed,  so  long  was  it  before  his 
acquaintance  heard  of  these  circumstances,  that  it  was 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  his  identity  could  be 
established,  or  his  history  traced  with  any  degree  of 
probability. 

To  be  a warning  and  a lesson  to  those  who  like 
Chatterton  are  disposed  to  abandon  the  course  which 
God  has  assigned  them,  and  to  teach  the  despairing 
and  the  men  of  little  faith,  that  “ our  Father  which  is 
in  heaven  ” knows  far  better  than  they  what  dispen- 
sation is  best  for  them ; and  to  prove  that  in  due  time 
we  shall  reap  if  we  faint  not,  but  with  meekness  and 
patience  wait  for  the  bright  revealings  of  Providence ; 

3 The  witnesses  were  Frederick  Angel,  Mary  Foster,  and 
William  Hamsley. 

VOL.  T.  I 


cxxviii  LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 

it  is  related  that  Dr.  Fry,  the  head  of  St.  John’s  Col- 
lege, Oxford,  very  shortly  after  the  unhappy  end  of 
the  young  poet,  proceeded  to  Bristol  to  investigate 
the  particulars  of  the  History  of  the  Rowley  Poems, 
and  to  befriend  and  assist  their  creator,  if  he  found 
him  deserving!  Poor  Chatterton!  had  he  learnt  to 
confide  in  the  wisdom  and  the  love  of  God,  his  grief 
would  have  endured  for  a night,  and  joy  would  have 
come  with  the  morning ; the  marvellous  Boy  would 
have  been  the  perfect  man  and  instead  of  a record 
of  sorrow  and  a death  of  madness,  we  should  have 
to  commemorate  the  history  of  a happy  poet  and  a 
Christian  philosopher. 

We  must  not  conclude  our  memoir  without  a brief 
description  of  the  external  appearance  of  Chatterton, 
and  a few  remarks  on  his  character. 

There  was  a stateliness  and  a manly  bearing  in 
Chatterton,  beyond  what  might  have  been  expected 
from  his  years.  “ He  had  a proud  air,”  says  one  who 
knew  him  well,^  and  according  to  the  general  evidence 
he  was  as  remarkable  for  the  prematurity  of  his  person 
as  he  was  for  that  of  his  intellect  and  imagination. 
His  mien  and  manner  were  exceedingly  prepossessing ; 
his  eyes  were  gray,  but  piercingly  brilliant ; and  when 
he  was  animated  in  conversation  or  excited  by  any 
passing  event,  the  fire  flashed  and  rolled  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  orbs  in  a wonderful  and  almost  fearful  way. 
Mr.  Catcott  characterized  Chatterton’s  eye  “ as  a kind 
of  hawk’s  eye,  and  thought  one  could  see  his  soul 
through  it.”  As  with  Byron,  one  eye  was  more 
remarkable  than  the  other,  and  its  lightning-like 


1 Mrs.  Edkins. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


CXXIX 


flashes  had  something  about  them  supernaturally 
grand. 

It  is  difficult  to  form  a just  appreciation  of  the 
character  of  Chatterton.  We  are  all  in  some  measure 
the  creatures  of  circumstance ; and  the  more  we  are 
subjected  to  external  influences,  the  more  our  will  is 
weakened,  and  the  less  able  are  we  to  do  battle  with 
the  hostile  array  of  our  passions,  and  to  resist  the 
temptations  which  are  presented  on  all  sides  by  a 
deceitful  and  untried  world.  The  moral  nature  of 
Chatterton  was  essentially  manly, — there  is  nothing 
in  it  which  even  approximates  to  the  puerile  or  the 
feminine ; his  faults  are  all  the  growth  of  a strong 
and  vigorous  heart,  and  of  a searching  and  masculine 
intellect  His  indomitable  pride,  his  premature  but 
natural  adoption  of  the  habits  and  expressions  of  men, 
his  love  of  reasoning,  his  earnest  and  unornamented 
eloquence,  all  demonstrate  the  essential  manliness  of 
his  character.  Chatterton,  when  he  complains,  never 
pules ; his  lamentations  have  often  a deep  pathos,  but 
are  quite  free  from  that  affected  sentimental  misery 
which  disgrace  the  pages  of  our  modern  writers.  There 
was  a strength  and  energy  and  Roman  virtus  in  his 
spirit,  which  sustained  him  in  his  most  fearful  struggles 
and  in  the  most  depressing  circumstances.  He  looked 
no  more  than  fact  constrained  him  to  the  dark  side 
of  things ; he  ever  hoped  for  the  best,  and  anticipated 
the  fairest  prospects,  even  when  a burden  rested  on 
him  which  would  have  crushed  to  the  earth  a less 
Titanic  heart.  This  too  was  effected  by  the  sheer 
force  of  his  proud  and  unconquerable  will,  for  Chat- 
terton was  naturally  the  subject  of  morbid  feelings 
ind  gloomy  apprehensions;  and  if  the  heroism  of  his 


cxxx 


LIFE  OF  CHATTER  TON. 


nature  bad  not  been  wonderfully  predominant,  would 
have  doubtless  fallen  a victim  to  the  destroying  operar 
tions  of  the  weaker  and  inferior  mental  organism. 
Instead  of  madness,  idiocy  would  probably  have  been 
the  fate  of  the  creator  of  Rowley. 

The  hardships  and  the  disappointments  which  Chat- 
tei*ton  experienced,  although  they  had  necessarily  a 
tendency  to  indurate  the  heart  and  to  stifle  the  softer 
and  finer  feelings  of  our  nature,  never  extinguished  or 
even  impaired  that  high  sense  of  filial  affection  and 
brotherly  love,  which  throughout  was  so  conspicuous 
in  his  conduct.  The  charities  of  home  had  a perma- 
nent dwelling-place  in  the  spirit  of  the  young  poet ; 
and  we  have  seen  him,  even  in  the  distress  and  agony 
of  his  London  career,  speaking  comfort  and  hope  to 
his  friends  at  Bristol,  and  remembering  their  wants 
and  administering  to  their  necessities.  For  his  love 
of  truth  he  was  eminent  even  from  his  boyish  years ; 
for  surely  the  creation  of  Rowley  and  Ischam,  and  the 
fiction  of  the  discovered  parchments,  cannot  be  con- 
sidered in  any  other  light  than  a literary  invention,  in 
fact  a part  and  parcel  of  the  glorious  imaginings  which 
this  royal  child  of  song  has  left  us.  For  his  temper- 
ance, and  the  mastery  which  he  had  over  his  passions, 
he  is  surpassed  by  none.  He  was  remarkable  for  his 
endurance,  although  not  for  his  patience ; if  he  was 
irritable  and  scornful,  it  is  hardly  to  be  wondered  at, 
“ for  he  moved  about  in  worlds  not  realized,”  and  felt 
acutely  how  this  outward  universe,  with  its  false  shows 
and  cruel  mockeries,  gave  the  lie  to  that  inward 
paradise  of  love  and  justice  and  harmony,  which 
was  shadowed  forth  in  the  heart  of  the  poet,  as  the 
fields  and  trees  and  flowers  in  the  clear  and  quie 
waters. 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON.  CXXXi 

Chattertoii  was  unfortunate  in  the  education  which 
he  received.  Boys  of  his  order  of  mind  and  dispo- 
sition of  heart  require  a teaching  very  diflerent  from 
that  which  is  found  to  answer  sufficiently  well  with 
the  majority  of  children.  Those  who  neither  think 
nor  feel,  may  be  taught  without  any  endeavour  on  the 
part  of  the  instructor  to  discover  and  aid  in  the  devel- 
opment of  their  mental  faculties  or  the  affections  of 
their  hearts;  but  for  those  who  are  conscious  of  a 
higher  destiny,  who  come  trailing  clouds  of  glory 
fresh  from  God’s  hand,  who  cherish  dim  recollections 
of  their  Father’s  palace,^  and  are  haunted  with  obsti- 
nate questionings  as  to  the  significance  of  this  many- 
coloured  thing  called  life ; who  observe  that  wonderful 
processes  are  going  on  in  that  inward  man  of  theirs, 
and  feel  that  they  are  greater  than  they  know, — for 
such  children  there  must  be  instituted  an  investigation 
into  the  capacities  of  their  hearts  and  minds,  their 
faculties  must  be  developed  harmoniously  with  the 
laws  which  nature  has  written  on  their  minds,  and 
their  sensibilities  must  be  trained,  and  their  good 
quahties  cultivated,  and  their  evil  passions  checked  in 
their  growth,  by  a wise  and  loving  superintendence. 
Such  superintendence  Chatterton  never  had.  The 
ideal  of  such  teaching  is  perhaps  not  to  be  found — but 
at  least  an  approximation  may  be  made  to  it ; and  in 
proportion  as  any  man  has  approached  towards  this 
absolute  standard  is  he  a teacher,  but  in  no  other 
$ense,  and  in  no  other  proportion  has  he  the  slightest 
yretensions  to  the  sacred  title. 

For  want  of  the  true  system  of  instruction,  Cbat* 


' See  Wordsworth’s  Ode  on  Childhood. 


2XXX11 


LIFE  OF  CHATTERTON. 


terton,  like  most  other  poets,  was  obliged  to  have 
recourse  to  self-teaching.  Without  a guide,  with  no 
illumination  but  that  of  his  own  intellect,  which  blinded 
him  with  excess  of  light,  he  wandered  widely  from 
the  narrow  path  which  leads  to  perfection.  He  was 
true,  to  a certain  extent,  to  the  principles  of  his  own 
nature,  and  generally  sincere  in  the  evolution  of  the 
good,  and  in  his  submission  to  their  guidance ; but  he 
could  not  clearly  distinguish  the  divine  voice  from  the 
Satanic  whisper,  and  he  too  often  obeyed  the  sugges- 
tions of  the  evil  heart,  when  he  was  self-deceived  into 
the  belief  that  he  was  following  the  oracular  intima- 
tions of  the  good  conscience.  Had  Chatterton  lived 
longer,  he  would  doubtless  have  come  to  a full  knowl- 
edge of  the  truth.  Let  any  man  be  true  to  himself 
and  his  God-given  nature ; let  “ him  love  the  truth  and 
pursue  it,”  through  darkness  and  distress  and  solitude 
and  despair;  and  the  great  Father,  whose  name  is 
love,  will  never  abandon  a sincere  and  single-hearted, 
although  erring,  child.  If  the  poet  had  continued  his 
self-education,  he  would  have  learnt  reverence  for 
others,  mistrust  of  himself,  contempt  for  nothing  that 
is,  charity  for  all,  humility  and  the  fear  of  God ; till  at 
length,  instead  of  being  naked  and  miserable  and  poor, 
he  would  have  been  found  clothed  and  in  his  right 
^ind,  and  sitting  at  the  feet  of  Jesu^' 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


The  poems  of  Chatterton  may  be  divided  into  two  grand 
classes,  those  ascribed  to  Rowley,  and  those  which  the  bard 
of  Bristol  avowed  to  be  his  own  composition.  Of  these  classes, 
the  former  is  incalculably  superior  to  the  latter  in  poetical 
power  and  diction.  This  is  a remarkable  circumstance,  and 
forms,  we  think,  the  only  forcible  argument  in  support  of 
the  existence  and  claims  of  Rowley.  But  there  is  a satisfac- 
tory answer,  founded  upon  more  than  one  reason,  for  the  in- 
feriority betwixt  the  avowed  and  concealed  productions  of 
Chatterton.  He  produced  those  antiquated  poems  wdiich  he 
ascribed  to  Rowley,  when  a youth  of  sixteen ; and  his  educa- 
tion had  been  so  limited  that  his  general  acquirements  were 
beneath  those  of  boys  of  the  same  age,  since  he  was  neither 
acquainted  with  French  nor  Latin.  If,  therefore,  there  is  other 
evidence  to  prove  that  the  poems  of  Rowley  are  his  own  com- 
position, it  follows  that  the  whole  powers  and  energies  of  his 
extraordinary  talents  must  have  been  converted  to  the  acqui- 
sition of  the  obsolete  language  and  peculiar  style  necessary 
to  support  the  deep-laid  deception.  He  could  have  no  time 
for  the  study  of  oui*  modern  poets,  their  rules  of  verse,  or 
modes  of  expression,  'while  his  whole  faculties  were  intensely 
employed  in  the  Herculean  task  of  creating  the  person,  his- 
tory, and  language  of  an  ancient  poet,  which,  vast  as  these 
faculties  were,  was  surely  sufficient  wholly  to  engross,  though 
not  to  overburden  them.  When,  therefore,  due  time  is  al- 
lowed for  a boy  of  sixteen  to  have  acquired  the  astonishing 
VOL.  I,  1 


2 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


skill  in  “ antique  lore  ” necessary  to  the  execution  of  this 
great  project,  it  will  readily  be  allowed  that  he  must  have 
come  to  the  composition  of  modern  poetry  a mere  novice, 
destitute  of  all  adventitious  support,  and  relying  only  on  the 
strength  of  his  own  genius,  which,  powerful  as  it  was,  had 
hitherto  been  used  in  a different  and  somewhat  inconsistent 
direction.  In  the  poems  of  Rowley,  therefore,  we  read  the 
exertions  of  Chatterton  in  the  line  of  his  own  choice,  aided 
by  all  the  information  which  his  researches  had  enabled  him 
to  procure,  and  stimulated  by  his  favourite  ambition  of  impos- 
ing upon  the  literary  world ; but,  in  his  modern  poems,  he  is 
engaged  in  a style  of  composition  to  which  he  was  compara- 
tively a stranger,  and  to  which  the  bent  of  his  mind  and  turn 
of  his  studies  had  not  naturally  inclined  him.  Although  this 
argument  seems  to  account,  in  a manner  sufficiently  satisfac- 
tory, for  the  inequality  of  these  productions  in  which  Chat- 
terton has  thrown  aside  the  mask  of  Rowley,  it  is  not  the  only 
one  which  can  be  offered.  Let  it  be  remembered,  that,  ad- 
mitting Chatterton  to  be  engaged  in  a deception,  he  had 
pledged  himself  to  maintain  it ; he  was  therefore  carefully  to 
avoid  whatever  might  tend  to  remove  the  veil  which  he  had 
spread  over  it ; and  such  was  his  firmness  of  perseverance, 
that  he  seems  to  attest  the  originality  of  Rowley,  even  in  the 
Will  which  he  wrote  before  his  projected  suicide.  Without 
therefore  supposing  that  he  had  underwritten  his  own  poems 
in  order  to  set  off  those  of  Rowley,  it  is  obvious  that  the  for- 
mer must  have  been  executed  under  a degree  of  embarrass- 
ment highly  unfavourable  to  poetical  composition.  As  Row- 
ley,  Chatterton  had  put  forth  his  whole  strength,  and  exerted 
himself  to  the  utmost  in  describing  those  scenes  of  antique 
splendour  which  captivated  his  imagination  so  strongly.  But 
when  he  wrote  in  his  own  character,  he  was  under  the  neces- 
sity of  avoiding  every  idea,  subject,  or  expression,  however 
favourite,  which  could  tend  to  identify  the  style  of  Chatterton 
with  that  of  Rowley  ; and  surely  it  is  no  more  to  be  expected 
that,  thus  cramped  and  trammelled,  he  should  equal  his  un- 
restrained efforts,  than  that  a man  should  exert  the  sam« 
speed  with  fetters  on  his  limbs  as  if  they  were  at  liberty 
V.et  it  be  further  considered,  that  there  exist  persons  to  whom 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


3 


riatiire  has  granted  the  talent  of  mimicking,  not  merely  the 
voice  and  gesture,  but  the  expression,  ideas,  and  manner  of 
thinking  of  others,  and  who,  speaking  in  an  assumed  char 
acter,  display  a fire  and  genius  which  evaporates  when  they 
resume  their  own.  In  like  manner,  Chatterton,  with  all  his 
wonderful  powers,  appears  from  the  habit  of  writing  as  a fic- 
titious personage,  and  in  a strangely  antiquated  dialect,  to 
have  in  some  degree  formed  a character  to  his  supposed  Row- 
ley,  superior  to  what  he  was  able  to  maintain  in  his  own  per- 
son when  his  disguise  was  laid  aside.  The  veil  of  antiquity 
also,  the  hard,  and  often  inexplicable  phrases,  which  he  felt 
himself  at  liberty  to  use  under  his  assumed  character  of  a 
poet  of  the  fifteenth  century,  serve  in  a considerable  degree  tc 
olind  and  impose  upon  the  reader,  who  does  not  find  himself 
entitled  to  condemn  what  he  does  not  understand,  and  who 
is  inclined,  from  the  eminent  beauty  of  many  passages,  to 
extend  his  gratuitous  admiration  to  those  which  are  less  in- 
telligible. But,  when  writing  in  modern  English,  this  advan- 
tage is  lost,  and  we  are  often  shocked  with  a bald  and  pro- 
saic tautology,  with  bombast,  and  with  coarseness  of  expres- 
sion, all  the  defects,  not  of  Chatterton’s  natural  genius,  but 
of  his  extreme  youth  and  deficient  education;  and  many  in- 
stances of  which  will  be  found  to  exist,  by  curious  inquirers 
even  under  the  seemly  and  antique  Alban  of  the  Deigne 
Thomas  Rowleie  Preiste  of  St  Johans^  Bristowe. — Sir  Walter 
Scott. 


SLY  DICK.i 


Sharp  was  the  frost,  the  wind  was  high, 
And  sparkling  stars  bedeckt  the  sky, 

Sly  Dick  in  arts  of  cunning  skill’d. 

Whose  rapine  all  his  pockets  fill’d. 

Had  laid  him  down  to  take  his  rest 
And  soothe  with  sleep  his  anxious  breast. 
’Twas  thus  a dark  infernal  sprite 
A native  of  the  blackest  night. 

Portending  mischief  to  devise 
Upon  Sly  Dick  he  cast  his  eyes  ; 

Then  straight  descends  the  infernal  sprite, 
And  in  his  chamber  does  alight : 

In  visions  he  before  him  stands, 

And  his  attention  he  commands. 

Thus  spake  the  sprite — hearken,  my  friend, 
And  to  my  counsels  now  attend. 


1 From  a copy  in  the  handwritinoj  of  Sir  Herbert  Croft,  in 
the  volume  of  Chattcrton’s  works  purchased  by  Mr.  Waldron 
»t  the  sale  of  Sir  Herbert’s  Library.  He  says,  “ this  was  writ- 
ten by  Chatterton  at  about  eleven  ; as  well  as  the  following 
tlymn.” — Southey’s  Edition. 


SLY  DICK. 


5 


Within  the  garret’s  spacious  dome 
There  lies  a well  stor’d  wealthy  room, 
Well  stor’d  with  cloth  and  stockings  too, 
Which  I suppose  will  do  for  you, 

First  from  the  cloth  take  thou  a purse. 
For  thee  it  will  not  be  the  worse, 

A noble  purse  rewards  thy  pains, 

A purse  to  hold  thy  filching  gains ; 

Then  for  the  stockings  let  them  reeve 
And  not  a scrap  behind  thee  leave, 

Five  bundles  for  a penny  sell. 

And  pence  to  thee  will  come  pell  mell ; 
See  it  be  done  with  speed  and  care. 
Thus  spake  the  sprite  and  sunki  in  air. 

When  in  the  morn  with  thoughts  erect 
Sly  Dick  did  on  his  dream  reflect, 

Why  faith,  thinks  he,  ’tis  something  too, 
It  might — perhaps — it  might — be  true. 
I’ll  go  and  see — away  he  hies, 

And  to  the  garret  quick  he  flies, 

Enters  the  room,  cuts  up  the  clothes 
And  after  that  reeves  up  the  hose  ; 

Then  of  the  cloth  he  purses  made, 
Purses  to  hold  his  filching  trade. 

* * * desunL  * * * 


A HYMN  FOR  CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


Almighty  Framer  of  the  Skies  ! 

O let  our  pure  devotion  rise, 

Like  Incense  in  thy  Sight ! 

Wrapt  \n  impenetrable  Shade 
The  Texture  of  our  Souls  were  made 
Till  thy  Command  gave  Light. 

The  Sun  of  Glory  gleam’d  the  Ray, 
Refin’d  the  Darkness  into  Day, 

And  bid  the  Vapours  fly  : 

Impeird  by  his  eternal  Love 
He  left  his  Palaces  above 
To  cheer  our  gloomy  Sky. 

How  shall  we  celebrate  the  day, 
Wlien  God  appeared  m mortal  clay, 
The  mark  of  worldly  scorn  ; 

When  the  Archangel’s  heavenly  Lays, 
Attempted  the  Redeemer’s  Praise 
And  hail’d  Salvation’s  Morn  1 


A HYMN  FOR  CHRISTMAS  DAT. 


7 


A Humble  Form  the  Godhead  wore, 
The  Pains  of  Poverty  he  bore, 

To  gaudy  Pomp  unknown  : 

Tho’  in  a human  walk  he  trod, 

Still  was  the  Man  Almighty  God, 

In  Glory  all  his  own. 

Despis’d,  oppress’d,  the  Godhead  bears 
The  Torments  of  this  Vale  of  tears  ; 

Nor  bade  his  Vengeance  rise  ; 

He  saw  the  Creatures  he  had  made. 
Revile  his  Power,  his  Peace  invade ; 
He  saw  with  Mercy’s  Eyes. 

How  shall  we  celebrate  his  Name, 
Who  groan’d  beneath  a Life  of  shame 
In  all  afflictions  tried ! 

The  Soul  is  raptured  to  conceive 
A Truth,  which  Being  must  believe, 
The  God  Eternal  died. 

My  Soul  exert  thy  Powers,  adore. 
Upon  Devotion’s  plumage  soar 
To  celebrate  the  Day : 

The  God  from  whom  Creation  sprung 
Shall  animate  my  grateful  Tongue  , 
From  him  I’ll  catch  the  Lay  I 


APOSTATE  WILL.i 


In  days  of  old,  when  Wesley’s  power 
Gathered  new  strength  by  every  hour; 
Apostate  Will,  just  sunk  in  trade. 
Resolved  his  bargain  should  be  made ; 
Then  straight  to  Wesley  he  repairs. 
And  puts  on  grave  and  solemn  airs ; 


1 This  poem  is  transcribed,  says  Sir  Herbert  Croft,  from  an 
old  pocketbook  in  his  mother’s  possession.  It  appears  to  be 
his  first,  perhaps  his  only  copy  of  it;  and  is  evidently  his 
handwriting.  By  the  date,  he  was  eleven  years  and  almost 
five  months  old.  It  is  not  the  most  extraordinary  perform- 
ance in  the  world : but,  from  the  circumstance  of  Chatterton’s 
parentage  and  education,  it  is  unlikely,  if  not  impossible,  that 
he  should  have  met  with  any  assistance  or  correction;  where- 
as, when  we  read  the  ode  which  Pope  wrote  at  twelve,  and 
another  of  Cowley  at  thirteen,  we  are  apt  to  suspect  a parent, 
friend,  or  tutor  of  an  amiable  dishonesty,  of  which  we  feel, 
perhaps,  that  we  should  be  guilty.  Suspicions  of  this  nature 
touch  not  Chatterton.  He  knew  no  tutor,  no  friend,  no  pa- 
rent— at  least  no  parent  who  could  correct  or  assist  him. 

This  poem  appears  to  have  been  aimed  at  somebody,  who 
had  formerly  been  a Methodist,  and  was  lately  promoted  (txj 
the  dignity,  perhaps,  of  opening  a pew  or  a grave ; for  Chat- 
terton was  the  sexton’s  nephew)  in  the  established  church. 

Love  and  Madness. 


APOSTATE  WILL. 


9 


Tin'll  thus  tlie  pious  man  addressed. 

Good  .>ir,  1 tliink  your  doctrine  best;  . 
Your  servant  will  a Wesley  be, 

Therefore  the  principles  teach  me. 

The  preacher  then  instructions  gave, 

How  he  in  this  world  should  behave : 

He  hears,  assents,  and  gives  a nod, 

Says  every  word’s  the  word  of  God, 

Then  lifting  his  dissembling  eyes. 

How  blessed  is  the  sect ! he  cries  ; 

Nor  Bingham,  Young,  nor  Stillingfleet, 
Shall  make  me  from  this  sect  retreat. 

He  then  his  circumstance  declared. 

How  hardly  with  him  matters  fared, 
Begg’d  him  next  morning  for  to  make 
A small  collection  for  his  sake. 

The  preacher  said,  Do  not  repine. 

The  whole  collection  shall  be  thine. 

With  looks  demure  and  cringing  bows, 
About  his  business  straight  he  goes. 

His  outward  acts  were  grave  and  prim, 
The  methodist  appear’d  in  him. 

But,  be  his  outward  what  it  will. 

His  heart  was  an  apostate’s  still. 

He’d  oft  profess  an  hallowed  flame. 

And  everywhere  preach’d  Wesley’s  name; 
He  was  a preacher,  and  what  not, 

As  long  as  money  could  be  got ; 

He’d  oft  profess,  with  holy  fire. 

The  labourer’s  worthy  of  his  hire. 


10 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


It  happenM  once  upon  a time, 

When  all  his  works  were  in  their  prime, 

A noble  place  appear’d  in  view ; 

Then to  the  methodists,  adieu. 

A methodist  no  more  he’ll  be, 

The  protestants  serve  best  for  he. 

Then  to  the  curate  straight  he  ran. 

And  thus  address’d  the  rev’rend  man : 

I was  a methodist,  tis  true  ; 

With  penitence  I turn  to  you. 

O that  it  were  your  bounteous  will 
That  I the  vacant  place  might  fill ! 

With  justice  I’d  myself  acquit. 

Do  every  thing  that’s  right  and  fit. 

The  curate  straightway  gave  consent — 

To  take  the  place  he  quickly  went. 
Accordingly  he  took  the  place. 

And  keeps  it  with  dissembled  grace.^ 

Uth,  1764. 

1 It  has  been  urged,  and  for  an  obvious  reason,  that  the 
Poems  acknowledged  by  Chatterton  to  be  of  his  own  compo- 
sition, are  of  a cast  much  inferior  to  those  which  he  produced 
as  written  by  Rowley.  If  this  be  true,  we  should  remember 
that  Chatterton  lavished  all  his  powers  on  the  counterfeit 
Rowley  with  whom  he  intended  to  astonish  or  to  deceive  the 
world,  and  that  his  Miscellanies  were  the  temporary  progeny 
of  indigence,  inconvenience,  and  distraction.  That  the 
former  pieces  were  composed,  with  one  uniform  object  in 
view,  ill  a state  of  leisure  and  repose,  through  the  course  of 
pearly  one  year  and  a half;  and  the  latter  amidst  the  want  of 
common  necessaries,  in  disquietude  and  in  dissipation,  at  the 
call  of  bookseller,  and  often  on  occasional  topics,  within  four 


NARVA  AND  MORED. 


AN  AFRICAN  ECLOGUeA 

Recite  the  loves  of  Narva  and  Mored, 

The  priest  of  Chalma’s  triple  idol  said. 

High  from  the  ground  the  youthful  warriors 
sprung, 

Loud  on  the  concave  shell  the  lances  rung: 

In  all  the  mystic  mazes  of  the  dance, 

The  youths  of  Banny’s  burning  sands  advance, 
Whilst  the  soft  virgin  panting  looks  behind, 

And  rides  upon  the  pinions  of  the  wind ; 

months.  But  I do  not  grant  this  boasted  inequality.  If  there 
is  any,  at  least  the  same  hand  appears  in  both.  The  acknowl- 
edged poems  contain  many  strokes  of  uncommon  spirit  and 
imagination,  and  such  as  would  mark  any  boy  of  seventeen 
for  a genius.  Let  me  add,  that  both  collections  contain  an 
imagery  of  the  same  sort.  His  first  poetical  production, 
when  he  was  aged  only  eleven  years  and  five  months,  is  a 
satire  on  some  Methodist,  such  a one  as  it  was  easy  to  find  at 
Bristol,  and  is  entitled  “ Apostate  Will.”  It  has  a degree  of 
humour  and  an  ease  of  versification  which  are  astonishing  in 
such  a child. — Warton. 

1 In  a letter  to  his  friend  Cary,  dated  London,  July  1, 1770, 
Chatterton  tells  him,  “In  the  last  London  magazine,  and  in 
that  which  comes  out  to-day,  are  the  only  two  pieces  of  mine 
1 have  the  vanity  to  call  poetry.” — Dr.  Gregory. 


12 


ACKJ^OWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Ascends  the  mountain’s  brow,  and  measures 
round 

The  steepy  cliffs  of  Chalma’s  sacred  ground, 
Chahna,  the  god  whose  noisy  thunders  fly 
Thro’  the  dark  covering  of  the  midnight  sky, 
Whose  arm  directs  the  close  embattled  host. 

And  sinks  the  labouring  vessels  on  the  coast ; 
Chalma,  whose  excellence  is  known  from  far ; 
From  Lupa’s  rocky  hill  to  Calabar. 

The  guardian  god  of  Afric  and  the  isles. 

Where  nature  in  her  strongest  vigour  smiles  ; 
Where  the  blue  blossom  of  the  forky  thorn. 
Bends  with  the  nectar  of  the  op’ning  mom : 
Where  ginger’s  aromatic,  matted  root. 

Creep  through  the  mead,  and  up  the  mountains 


Three  times  the  virgin,  swimming  on  the  breeze, 
Danc’d  in  the  shadow  of  the  mystic  trees  : 

When,  like  a dark  cloud  spreading  to  the  view, 
The  first-born  sons  of  war  and  blood  pursue  ; 
Swift  as  the  elk  they  pour  along  the  plain ; 

Swift  as  the  flying  clouds  distilhng  rain. 

Swift  as  the  boundings  of  the  youthful  roe, 

They  course  around,  and  lengthen  as  they  go. 
Like  the  long  chain  of  rocks,  whose  summits 
rise, 

Far  in  the  sacred  regions  of  the  skies ; 

Upon  whose  top  the  black’ning  tempest  lours. 
Whilst  down  its  side  the  gushing  torrent  pours, 


NARVA  AND  MORED. 


13 


Like  the  long  cliffy  mountains  which  extend 
From  Lorbar’s  cave,  to  where  the  nations  end, 
Which  sink  in  darkness,  thick’ning  and  obscure, 
Impenetrable,  mystic,  and  impure ; 

The  flying  terrors  of  the  war  advance. 

And  round  the  sacred  oak,  repeat  the  dance. 
Furious  they  twist  around  the  gloomy  trees, 

Like  leaves  in  autumn,  twirling  with  the  breeze. 
So  when  the  splendour  of  the  dying  day 
Darts  the  red  lustre  of  the  watery  way ; 

Sudden  beneath  Toddida’s  whistling  brink. 

The  circling  billows  in  wild  eddies  sink. 

Whirl  furious  round,  and  the  loud  bursting  wave 
Sinks  down  to  Chalma’s  sacerdotal  cave, 

Explores  the  palaces  on  Zira’s  coast. 

Where  howls  the  war-song  of  the  chieftain’s  ghost ; 
Where  the  artificer  in  realms  below. 

Gilds  the  rich  lance,  or  beautifies  the  bow ; 

From  the  young  palm-tree  spins  the  useful  twine, 
Or  makes  the  teeth  of  elephants  divine. 

Where  the  pale  children  of  the  feeble  sun. 

In  search  of  gold,  thro’  every  climate  run : 

From  burning  heat  to  freezing  torments  go, 

And  live  in  all  vicissitudes  of  woe. 

Like  the  loud  eddies  of  Toddida’s  sea. 

The'  warriors  circle  the  mysterious  tree : 

Till  spent  with  exercise  they  spread  around 
Upon  the  op’ning  blossoms  of  the  ground. 

The  priestess  rising,  sings  the  sacred  tale, 

A.nd  the  loud  chorus  echoes  thro’  the  dakj. 


L4 


ACKNOWLEDED  POEMS. 


PRIESTESS. 

Far  from  the  burning  sands  of  Calabar ; 

Far  from  the  lustre  of  the  morning  star  ; 

Far  from  the  pleasure  of  the  holy  morn ; 

Far  from  the  blessedness  of  Chalma’s  horn  : 

Now  rest  the  souls  of  Narva  and  Mored, 

Laid  in  the  dust,  and  number’d  with  the  dead. 
Dear  are  their  memories  to  us,  and  long. 

Long  shall  their  attributes  be  known  in  song. 
Their  lives  were  transient  as  the  meadow  flow’r. 
Ripen’d  in  ages,  wither’d  in  an  hour. 

Chalma,  reward  them  in  his  gloomy  cave. 

And  open  all  the  prisons  of  the  grave. 

Bred  to  the  service  of  the  godhead’s  throne. 

And  living  but  to  serve  his  God  alone, 

Narva  was  beauteous  as  the  opening  day 
When  on  the  spangling  waves  the  sunbeams  play, 
When  the  mackaw,  ascending  to  the  sky. 

Views  the  bright  splendour  with  a steady  eye. 
Tall,  as  the  house  of  Chalma’s  dark  retreat ; 
Compact  and  firm,  as  Rhadal  Ynca’s  fieet, 
Completely  beauteous  as  a summer’s  sun. 

Was  Narva,  by  his  excellence  undone. 

Where  the  soft  Togla  creeps  along  the  meads, 
Thro’  scented  Calamus  and  fragrant  reeds  ; 
Where  the  sweet  Zinsa  spreads  its  matted  bed 
Liv’d  the  still  sweeter  flower,  the  young  Mored  ; 
Black  was  her  face,  as  Togla’s  hidden  cell ; 

Soil  as  the  moss  where  hissing  adders  dwell. 


THE  DEATH  OF  NICOU. 


15 


As  to  the  sacred  court  she  brought  a fawn, 

The  sportive  tenant  of  the  spicy  lawn, 

She  saw  and  loved  ! and  Narva  too  forgot 
His  sacred  vestment  and  his  mystic  lot. 

Long  had  the  mutual  sigh,  the  mutual  tear. 

Burst  from  the  breast  and  scorn’d  confinement 
there. 

Existence  was  a torment ! O my  breast ! 

Can  I find  accents  to  unfold  the  rest ! 

Lock’d  in  each  other’s  arms,  from  Hyga’s  cave, 
They  plung’d  relentless  to  a wat’ry  grave  ; 

And  falling  murmured  to  the  powers  above, 

‘‘  Gods  ! take  our  lives,  unless  we  live  to  love.” 

Shoreditch^  May  2,  1770.  C. 


THE  DEATH  OF  NICOU. 

AN  AFRICAN  ECLOGUE. 

On  Tiber’s  banks,  Tiber,  whose  waters  glide 
In  slow  meanders  down  to  Gaigra’s  side  ; 

And  circling  all  the  horrid  mountain  round, 
(^Rushes  impetuous  to  the  deep  profound ; 

Rolls  o’er  the  ragged  rocks  with  hideous  yell  ; 
Collects  its  waves  beneath  the  earth’s  vast  shell:) 
There  for  a while  in  loud  confusion  hurl’d. 


16 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


ft  crumbles  mountains  down  and  shakes  the 
world.  ^ 

Till  borne  upon  the  pinions  of  the  air, 

Through  the  rent  earth  the  bursting  waves  ap- 
pear ; 

Fiercely  propell’d  the  whiten’d  billows  rise, 
Break  from  the  cavern,  and  ascend  the  skies  : 
Then  lost  and  conquered  by  superior  force. 
Through  hot  Arabia  holds  its  rapid  course ; 

On  Tiber’s  banks  where  scarlet  jasmines  bloom, 
And  purple  aloes  shed  a rich  perfume  ; 

Where,  when  the  sun  is  melting  in  his  heat. 

The  reeking  tigers  find  a cool  retreat ; 

Bask  in  the  sedges,  lose  the  sultry  beam. 

And  wanton  with  their  shadows  in  the  stream ; 

On  Tiber’s  banks,  by  sacred  priests  rever’d. 
Where  in  the  days  of  old  a god  appear’d  ; 

’Twas  in  the  dead  of  night,  at  Chalma’s  feast, 
The  tribe  of  Alra  slept  around  the  priest. 

He  spoke  ; as  evening  thunders  bursting  near, 
His  horrid  accents  broke  upon  the  ear  ; 

Attend,  Alraddas,  with  your  sacred  priest ! 

This  day  the  sun  is  rising  in  the  east ; 

The  sun,  which  shall  illumine  all  the  earth. 

Now,  now  is  rising,  in  a mortal  birth. 

He  vanish’d  like  a vapour  of  the  night. 

And  sunk  away  in  a faint  blaze  of  light. 

Swift  from  the  branches  of  the  holy  oak. 

Horror,  confusion,  fear,  and  torment  broke : 

Amd  still  when  midnight  trims  her  mazy  lamp, 


THE  DEATH  OF  NICOU. 


17 


They  take  their  way  through  Tiber’s  wat  ry 
swamp. 

On  Tibej*’s  banks,  close  ranked,  a warring  train, 
Stretch’d  to  the  distant  edge  of  Galea’s  plain  : 

So  when  arrived  at  Gaigra’s  highest  steep. 

We  view  the  wide  expansion  of  the  deep  ; 

See  in  the  gilding  of  her  wat’ry  robe. 

The  quick  declension  of  the  circling  globe  ; 
From  the  blue  sea  a chain  of  mountains  rise, 
Blended  at  once  with  water  and  with  skies  : 
Beyond  our  sight  in  vast  extension  curl’d, 

The  check  of  waves,  the  guardians  of  the 
world. 

Strong  were  the  warriors,  as  the  ghost  of  Cawn, 
Who  threw  the  Hill-of-archers  to  the  lawn  : 
When  the  soft  earth  at  his  appearance  fled ; 
And  rising  billows  play’d  around  his  head : 
When  a strong  tempest  rising  from  the  main, 
Dashed  the  full  clouds,  unbroken  on  the  plain. 
Nicou,  immortal  in  the  sacred  song. 

Held  the  red  sword  of  war,  and  led  the  strong  ; 
From  his  own  tribe  the  sable  warriors  came. 
Well  try’d  in  battle,  and^vell  known  in  fame. 
Nicou,  descended  from  the  god  of  war. 

Who  lived  'coeval  with  the  morning  star : 
Narada  was  his  name  ; who  cannot  tell 
How  all  the  world  through  great  Narada  fell ! 
Vichon,  the  god  who  ruled  above  the  skies. 
Look’d  on  Narada,  but  with  envious  eyes  : 

The  warrior  dared  him,  ridiculed  his  might, 
VOL.  r.  2 


18 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Bent  his  white  bow,  and  summon’d  him  to  fight. 
Vichon,  disdainful,  bade  his  lightnings  fiy. 

And  scatter’d  burnuig  arrows  in  the  sky  ; 

Threw  down  a star  the  armour  of  his  feet, 

To  burn  the  air  with  supernat’ral  heat ; 

Bid  a loud  tempest  roar  beneath  the  ground ; 
Lifted  the  sea,  and  all  the  earth  was  drown’d. 
Narada  still  escaped  ; a sacred  tree 
Lifted  him  up,  and  bore  him  thro'  the  sea. 

The  waters  still  ascending  fierce  and  high. 

He  tower’d  into  the  chambers  of  the  sky : 

There  Vichon  sat,  his  armour  on  his  bed, 

He  thought  Narada  with  the  mighty  dead. 
Before  his  seat  the  heavenly  warrior  stands, 

The  lightning  quiv’ring  in  his  yellow  hands. 

The  god  astonish’d  dropt ; hurl’d  from  the  shore, 
He  dropt  to  torments,  and  to  rise  no  more. 
Headlong  he  falls  ; ’tis  his  own  arms  compel, 
Condemn’d  in  ever-burning  fires  to  dwell. 

From  this  Narada,  mighty  Nicou  sprung ; 

The  mighty  Nicou,  furious,  wild  and  young. 
Who  led  th’  embattled  archers  to  the  field. 

And  bore  a thunderbolt  »upon  his  shield  : 

That  shield  his  glorious  father  died  to  gain. 
When  the  white  warriors  fied  along  the  plain, 
When  the  full  sails  could  not  provoke  the  flood, 
Till  Nicou  came  and  swell’d  the  seas  wdth  blood. 
Slow  at  the  end  of  his  robust  array. 

The  mighty  warrior  pensive  took  his  way : 
Against  the  son  of  Nair,  the  young  Rorest, 

Once  the  companion  of  his  youthful  breast. 


THE  DEATH  OF  NICOU. 


1 


Strong  were  the  passions  of  the  son  of  Nair, 
Strong,  as  the  tempest  of  the  evening  air. 
Insatiate  in  desire  ; fierce  as  the  boar ; 

Firm  in  resolve  as  Cannie’s  rocky  shore. 

Long  had  the  gods  endeavour’d  to  destroy, 

All  Nicou’s  friendship,  happiness,  and  joy : 
They  sought  in  vain,  ’till  Vicat,  Yichon’s  son, 
Never  in  feats  of  wickedness  outdone. 

Saw  Nica,  sister  to  the  Mountain  king, 

Brest  beautiful,  with  all  the  flow’rs  of  spring : 
He  saw,  and  scatter’d  poison  in  her  eyes  ; 
From  limb  to  limb  in  varied  forms  he  fiies  ; 
Dwelt  on  her  crimson  hp,  and  added  grace 
To  every  glossy  feature  of  her  face. 

Rorest  was  fir’d  with  passion  at  the  sight. 
Friendship  and  honour,  sunk  to  Vicat’s  right: 
He  saw,  he  lov’d,  and  burning  with  desire. 
Bore  the  soft  maid  from  brother,  sister,  sire. 
Pining  with  sorrow,  Nica  faded,  died. 

Like  a fair  aloe,  in  its  morning  pride. 

This  brought  the  warrior  to  the  bloody  mead. 
And  sent  to  young  Rorest  the  threat’ning  reed. 
He  drew  his  army  forth  : Oh,  need  I tell ! 
That  Nicou  conquer’d,  and  the  lover  fell : 

His  breathless  army  mantled  all  the  plain  ; 

And  Death  sat  smiling  on  the  heaps  of  slain. 
The  battle  ended,  with  his  reeking  dart. 

The  pensive  Nicou  pierc’d  his  beating  heart : 
And  to  his  mourning  valiant  warriors  cry’d, 

I,  and  my  sister’s  ghost  are  satisfy’d. 


FEBRUARY. 


AN  ELEGY. 

Begin,  mj  muse,  the  imitative  lay, 

Aonian  doxies  sound  the  thrumming  string ; 
Attempt  no  number  of  the  plaintive  Gay, 

Let  me  like  midnight  cats,  or  Collins  sing. 

If  in  the  trammels  of  the  doleful  hne 
The  bounding  hail,  or  drilling  rain  descend ; 
Come,  brooding  Melancholy,  pow’r  divine. 

And  ev’ry  unform’d  mass  of  words  amend. 

Now  the  rough  goat  withdraws  his  curling  horns, 
Ajid  the  cold  wat’rer  twirls  his  circling  mop : 
Swift  sudden  anguish  darts  thro’  alt’ring  corns. 
And  the  spruce  mercer  trembles  in  his  shop. 

Now  infant  authors,  madd’ning  for  renown. 
Extend  the  plume,  and  hum  about  the  stage, 
Procure  a benefit,  amuse  the  town. 

And  proudly  glitter  in  a title  page. 

Now,  wrapt  in  ninefold  fur,  his  squeamish  grace 
Defies  the  fury  of  the  howling  storm  ; 

And  whilst  the  tempest  whistles  round  his  face, 
VjXuUs  to  find  his  mantled  carcase  warm. 


FEBRUARY. 


21 


Now  rumbling  coaches  furious  drive  along, 

Full  of  the  majesty  of  city  dames, 

Whose  jewels  sparkling  in  the  gaudy  throng, 
Raise  strange  emotions  and  invidious  flames. 

Now  Merit,  happy  in  the  calm  of  place. 

To  mortals  as  a highlander  appears. 

And  conscious  of  the  excellence  of  lace. 

With  spreading  frogs  and  gleaming  spangles  glares. 

Whilst  Envy,  on  a tripod  seated  nigh. 

In  form  a shoe-boy,  daubs  the  valu’d  fruit. 

And  darting  lightnings  from  his  vengeful  eye. 
Raves  about  Wilkes,  and  politics,  and  Bute. 

Now  Barry,  taller  than  a grenadier, 

Dwindles  into  a stripling  of  eighteen  ; 

Or  sabled  in  Othello  breaks  the  ear. 

Exerts  his  voice,  and  totters  to  the  scene. 

Now  Foote,  a looking-glass  for  all  mankind. 
Applies  his  wax  to  personal  defects  ; 

But  leaves  untouch’d  the  image  of  the  mind, 

His  art  no  mental  quality  reflects. 

Now  Drury’s  potent  king  extorts  applause. 

And  pit,  box,  gallery,  echo,  “ how  divine  ! ” 

Whilst  vers’d  in  all  the  drama’s  mystic  laws, 

His  graceful  action  saves  the  wooden  line. 


22 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


No\^ — but  what  further  can  the  muses  sing  ? 
Now  dropping  particles  of  water  fall ; 

Now  vapours  riding  on  the  north  wind’s  wing, 
With  transitory  darkness  shadow  all. 


Alas  ! how  joyless  the  descriptive  theme, 
When  sorrow  on  the  writer’s  quiet  preys  ; 

And  like  a mouse  in  Cheshire  cheese  supreme. 
Devours  the  substance  of  the  less’ning  bays. 


7.^ 

Come,  February,  lend  thy  darkest  sky. 

There  teach  the  winter’d  muse  with  clouds  to  soar 
Come,  February,  lift  the  number  high ; 

Let  the  sharp  strain  like  wind  thro’  alleys  roar. 


Ye  channels,  wand’ring  thro’  the  spacious  street, 
In  hollow  murmurs  roll  the  dirt  along. 

With  inundations  wet  the  sabled  feet. 

Whilst  gouts  responsive,  join  th’  elegiac  song. 


* Ye  damsels  fair,  whose  silver  voices  shrill, 
Sound  thro’  meand’ring  folds  of  Echo’s  horn  ; 
Let  the  sweet  cry  of  hberty  be  still, 

No  more  let  smoking  cakes  awake  the  morn. 

0,  Winter  ! Put  away  thy  snowy  pride  ; 

0,  Spring ! Neglect  the  cowslip  and  the  bell ; 
0,  Summer ! Throw  thy  pears  and  plums  aside 
0,  Autumn  ! Bid  the  grape  with  poison  swell. 


A NEW  SONG. 


23 


The  pension’d  muse  of  Johnson  is  no  more  ! 
Drown’d  in  a butt  of  wine  his  genius  lies : 

Earth ! Ocean!  Heav’n ! The  wond’rous  loss  deplore, 
The  dregs  of  nature  with  her  glory  dies. 

What  iron  Stoic  can  suppress  the  tear ; 

Wiat  sour  reviewer  read  with  vacant  eye  ! 

What  bard  but  decks  his  literary  bier  1 
Alas  ! I cannot  sing — I howl — I cry — 


A NEW  SONG.i 

Ah  blame  me  not,  Catcott,  if  from  the  right  way 
My  notions  and  actions  run  far. 

How  can  my  ideas  do  other  but  stray, 

Deprived  of  their  ruling  North-Star  ? 

Ah  blame  me  not,  Broderip,  if  mounted  aloft, 

I chatter  and  spoil  the  dull  air ; 

How  can  I imagine  thy  foppery  soft. 

When  discord ’s  the  voice  of  my  fair  ? 

[f  Turner  remitted  my  bluster  and  rhymes. 

If  Harding  was  girlish  and  cold, 

If  never  an  ogle  was  got  from  Miss  Grimes, 

If  Flavia  was  blasted  and  old ; 

I Printed  from  the  original  in  the  British  Museum. 


24 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


I chose  without  liking,  and  left  without  pain, 

Nor  welcomed  the  frown  with  a sigh  ; 

I scorned,  like  a monkey,  to  dangle  my  chain, 

And  paint  them  new  charms  with  a lie. 

Once  Cotton  was  handsome ; I flam’d,  and  I burn'd, 
I died  to  obtain  the  bright  Queen : 

But  when  I beheld  my  epistle  return’d, 

By  Jesu  it  alter’d  the  scene. 

She ’s  damnable  ugly,  my  Vanity  cried. 

You  lie,  says  my  Conscience,  you  lie ; 

Resolving  to  follow  the  dictates  of  Pride, 

I’d  view  her  a hag  to  my  eye. 

But  should  she  regain  her  bright  lustre  again, 
And  shine  in  her  natural  charms, 

’Tis  but  to  accept  of  the  works  of  my  pen. 

And  permit  me  to  use  my  own  arms.^ 

1 One  of  his  juvenile  productions  is  a hymn  for  Christmas 
Day,  which  bears  ample  testimony  to  the  premature  powers 
of  the  author. — Such  was  the  early  command  of  language 
displayed  by  a child,  who,  when  a beardless  youth,  was  to 
quell  a whole  synod  of  grizzled  deans  and  antiquaries. — Sia 
Walter  Scott. 


HECCAR  AND  GAIRA. 


AN  AFRICAN  ECLOGUE. 

Where  the  rough  Caigra  rolls  the  surgy  wave, 
Urging  his  thunders  thro’  the  echoing^  cave  ; 
Where  the  sharp  rocks,  in  distant  horror  seen, 
Drive  the  white  currents  thro’  the  spreading 
green ; 

Where  the  loud  tiger,  pawing  in  his  rage. 

Bids  the  black  archers  of  the  wilds  engage  ; 
Stretch’d  on  the  sand,  two  panting  warriors  lay, 
In  all  the  burning  torments  of  the  day ; 

Their  bloody  jav’lins  reeked  one  living  steam. 
Their  bows  were  broken  at  the  roaring  stream ; 
Heccar  the  Chief  of  Jarra’s  fruitful  hill. 

Where  the  dark  vapours  nightly  dews  distil. 

Saw  Gaira  the  companion  of  his  soul. 

Extended  where  loud  Caigra’s  billows  roll ; 
Gaira,  the  king  of  warring  archers  found. 

Where  daily  lightnings  plough  the  sandy  ground, 
Where  brooding  tempests  howl  along  the  sky. 
Where  rising  deserts  whirl’d  in  circles  fly. 


I Distant  is  written  under  echoing  in  the  MS. 


26 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


HECCAR. 

Gaira,  ’tis  useless  to  attempt  the  chace, 

Swifter  than  hunted  wolves  they  urge  the  race ; 
Their  lessening  forms  elude  the  straining  eye, 
Upon  the  plumage  of  macaws  they  fly. 

Let  us  return,  and  strip  the  reeking  slain, 

Leaving  the  bodies  on  the  burning  plain. 

GAIRA. 

Heccar,  my  vengeance  still  exclaims  for  blood, 
^Twould  drink  a wider  stream  than  Caigra’s  flood. 
This  jav’lin,  oft  in  nobler  quarrels  try'd. 

Put  the  loud  thunder  of  their  arms  aside. 

Fast  as  the  streaming  rain,  I pour’d  the  dart. 
Hurling  a whirlwind  thro’  the  trembling  heart : 
But  now  my  ling’ring  feet  revenge  denies, 

0 could  I throw  my  jav’lin  from  my  eyes  ! 

HECCAR. 

When  Gaira  the  united  armies  broke. 

Death  wing’d  the  arrow ; death  imped’d  the  strokoi 
See,  pil’d  in  mountains,  on  the  sanguine  sand. 

The  blasted  of  the  lightnings  of  thy  hand. 

Search  the  brown  desert  and  the  glossy  green ; 
There  are  the  trophies  of  thy  valour  seen. 

The  scattered  bones  mantled  in  silver  white, 

Once  animated,  dared  the  force  ^ in  fight. 


Query,  whether  not  intended  for  foes? — Southey’ 


IIECCAR  AND  GAIRA. 


27 


The  children  of  the  wave,  whose  pallid  race, 
Views  the  faint  sun  display  a languid  face, 

From  the  red  fury  of  thy  justice  fled. 

Swifter  than  torrents  from  their  rocky  bed. 

Fear  with  a sickened  silver  ting’d  their  hue  ; 

The  guilty  fear,  when  vengeance  is  their  due. 

GAIRA. 

Rouse  not  Remembrance  from  her  shadowy  cell, 
Nor  of  those  bloody  sons  of  mischief  tell. 

Cawna,  O Cawna ! deck’d  in  sable  charms. 

What  distant  region  holds  thee  from  my  arms  ? 
Cawna,  the  pride  of  Afric’s  sultry  vales, 

Soft  as  the  cooling  murmur  of  the  gales. 

Majestic  as  the  many  colour’d  snake, 

Trailing  his  glories  thro’  the  blossom’d  brake : 
Black  as  the  glossy  rocks,  where  Eascal  roars. 
Foaming  thro’  sandy  wastes  to  Jaghir’s  shores ; 
Swift  as  the  arrow,  hasting  to  the  breast. 

Was  Cawna,  the  companion  of  my  rest. 

The  sun  sat  low’ring  in  the  western  sky, 

The  swelling  tempest  spread  around  the  eye ; 
Upon  my  Cawna’s  bosom  I reclin’d. 

Catching  the  breathing  whispers  of  the  wind. 
Swift  from  the  wood  a prowling  tiger  came ; 
Dreadful  his  voice,  his  eyes  a glowing  flame ; 

I bent  the  bow,  the  never-erring  dart 
Pierced  his  rough  armour,  but  escaped  his  heart 
He  fled,  tho’  wounded,  to  a distant  waste, 


?S  ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 

I urg’d  the  furious  flight  with  fatal  haste ; 

He  fell,  he  died — spent  in  the  fiery  toil, 

I strip’d  his  carcase  of  the  furry  spoil, 

And  as  the  varied  spangles  met  my  eye, 

On  this,  I cried,  shall  my  loved  Cawna  lie. 

The  dusky  midnight  hung  the  skies  in  grey ; 
Irnpell’d  by  love,  I wing’d  the  airy  way  ; 

In  the  deep  valley  and  the  mossy  plain, 

I sought  my  Cawna,  but  I sought  in  vain, 

The  pallid  shadows  of  the  azure  waves 
Had  made  my  Cawna  and  my  children  slaves. 
Reflection  maddens,  to  recall  the  hour. 

The  gods  had  given  me  to  the  daemon’s  power. 
The  dusk  slow  vanished  from  the  hated  lawn, 

I gain’d  a mountain  glaring  with  the  dawn. 
There  the  full  sails,  expanded  to  the  wind. 
Struck  horror  and  distraction  in  my  mind, 
There  Cawna  mingled  with  a worthless  train. 
In  common  slavery  drags  the  hated  chain. 

Now  judge,  my  Heccar,  have  I cause  for  rage 
Should  aught  the  thunder  of  my  arm  assuage  ? 
In  ever  reeking  blood  this  jav’lin  dyed 
With  vengeance  shall  be  never  satisfied ; 

I’ll  strew  the  beaches  with  the  mighty  dead 
And  tinge  the  lily  of  their  features  red. 

HECCAR. 

When  the  loud  shriekings  of  the  hostile  cry 
Roughly  salute  my  ear,  enraged  I’ll  fiy ; 

Send  the  sharp  arrow  quivering  thro’  the  heart 


THE  METHODIST. 


29 


Chill  the  hot  vitals  with  the  venom’d  dart ; 
Nor  heed  the  shining  steel  or  noisy  smoke, 
Gaira  and  Vengeance  shall  inspire  the  stroke. 


THE  METHODIST. 

Sa.ys  Tom  to  Jack,  ’tis  very  odd, 

These  representatives  of  God, 

In  colour,  way  of  life  and  evil, 

Should  be  so  very  like  the  devil. 

Jack,  understand,  was  one  of  those, 
Who  mould  religion  in  the  nose, 

A red-hot  methodist ; his  face 
Was  full  of  puritanic  grace. 

His  loose  lank  hair,  his  slow  gradation. 
Declared  a late  regeneration  ; 

Among  the  daughters  long  renown’d, 
For  standing  upon  holy  ground  ; 

Never  in  carnal  battle  beat, 

Tho’  sometimes  forced  to  a retreat. 

But  C 1,  hero  as  he  is, 

Knight  of  incomparable  phiz. 

When  pliant  doxy  seems  to  yield. 
Courageously  forsakes  the  field. 

Jack,  or  to  write  more  gravely,  John, 
Thro’  hills  of  Weshy’s  works  had  gone ; 


30 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Could  sing  one  hundred  hymns  by  rote ; 
Hymns  which  will  sanctify  the  throat : 

But  some  indeed  composed  so  oddly, 

You’d  swear  ’twas  bawdy  songs  made  godly. 


COLIN  INSTRUCTED. 

Young  Colin  was  as  stout  a boy 
As  ever  gave  a maiden  joy ; 

But  long  in  vain  he  told  his  tale 
To  black-eyed  Biddy  of  the  Dale. 

Ah  why,  the  whining  shepherd  cried, 
Am  I alone  your  smiles  denied  ? 

I only  tell  in  vain  my  tale 
To  black-eyed  Biddy  of  the  Dale. 

True  Colin,  said  the  laughing  dame, 
You  only  whimper  out  your  flame. 
Others  do  more  than  sigh  their  tale 
To  black-eyed  Biddy  of  the  Dale. 


He  took  the  hint,  &c. 


KEW  GARDENS.* 


Hail  Kew  ! thou  darling  of  the  tuneful  nine, 
Thou  eating-house  of  verse  where  poets  dine ; 
The  temple  of  the  idol  of  the  great, 

Sacred  to  council-mysteries  of  state ; 


1 Printed  from  a transcript  in  the  handwriting  of  the  late 
Kr.  Isaac  Reed,  contained  in  Mr.  Haslewood’s  collection. 

The  poem  of  “ Kew  Gardens,”  had  never  been  published 
complete.  In  Southey  and  Cottle’s  edition  of  Chatterton’s 
Works,  a few  of  the  concluding  lines  were  published,  and  the 
following  note  was  added,  vol.  i.  p.  202 : — 

“ Every  effort  has  been  made  to  obtain  the  remainder  of 
this  poem,  but  without  success.  The  last  possessor  who  can 
be  traced  was  the  late  Dr.  Lort.  His  executor.  Dr.  Halifax,  has 
obligingly  communicated  the  preceding  fragment,  but  the 
remainder  of  the  poem  never  came  into  his  possession.  Many 
lines  in  the  * Extract  from  the  Kew  Gardens,’  appear  in  the 
‘ Whore  of  Babylon,’  but  differently  arranged.” 

“ Chatterton  refers  to  this  poem  in  his  will.  I have  not 
been  able  to  ascertain  the  precise  time  when  it  was  written, 
l)ut  it  is  evident  that  it  must  have  been  produced  before  April, 
1770,  from  the  fact  ^f  his  having  named  it  in  the  document 
'•eferred  to.  I have  been  fortunate  enough  to  procure  a copy 
\f  the  whole  poem,  through  Mr.  Gutch,  and  it  is  here  for  the 
f.-8t  time  printed  entire.” — Dix’s  Life  of  Chatterton,  1837. 


32 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Tt.  Gilbert  oft,  in  dangerous  trials  known, 
bo  make  the  shame  and  felony  his  own. 

Burns  incense  on  thy  altars,  and  presents 
The  grateful  sound  of  clam’rous  discontents : 
In  the  bold  favour  of  thy  goddess  vain. 

He  brandishes  his  sword  and  shakes  his  chaia. 
He  knows  her  secret  workings  and  desires, 
Her  hidden  attributes,  and  vestal  fires, 

Like  an  old  oak  has  seen  her  godhead  fall. 
Beneath  the  wild  descendant  of  Fingal, 

And  happy  in  the  view  of  promised  store 
Forgot  his  dignity  and  held  the  door. 

^ ^ ^ happy  genius  comes  along 

Humming  the  music  of  a Highland  song : 
Rough  and  unpolish’d  in  the  tricks  of  state, 

He  plots  by  instinct,  is  by  nature  great. 

Who,  not  a mantled  herald,  can  dispute 
The  native  grandeur  of  the  house  of  Bute  ? 
Who,  not  a Caledonian,  can  deny 
By  instinct  all  its  noble  branches  lie  ? 

’Tis  an  entail’d  estate  upon  the  name. 

To  plunder,  plot,  and  pillage  into  fame. 

To  live  in  splendour,  infamy,  and  pride. 

The  guiders  of  the  tools  who  seem  to  guide ; 

Or  starve  on  honesty,  in  state  their  own. 

And  marshal  sheep  unnotic’d  and  unknown. 

* * * * vers’d  in  juntos  and  intrigues, 

The  fool  and  statesman  in  close  union  leagues  ; 
Sits  at  the  council’s  head ; esteem’d  at  most 
An  useful  kind  of  circulating  post : 


KEW  GARDENS. 


33 


Through  whose  short  stage  each  future  measure’s 
laid,  • 

And  all  the  orders  of  the  Thane  convey’d. 

He  gives  the  written  text  by  fortune  wrote ; 

Sir  Gilbert  adds  his  necessary  note. 

Dyson,  a plodding  animal  of  state, 

Who ’s  classically  little  to  be  great ; 

An  instrument  made  use  of  to  record 
The  future  witty  speeches  of  his  lord  : 

To  write  epistles  to  his  powerful  dame, 

And  in  the  dark  supply  his  loss  of  flame ; 

To  sell  preferment ; grovel  in  the  dust ; 

The  slave  of  interest  and  the  slave  of  lust. 

To  lick  his  lordship’s  shoes,  and  find  a flaw 
In  every  statute  that  oppos’d  his  law. 

To  carry  orders  to  the  guiding  tool. 

To  flatter  * * * * with  the  hopes  of  rule. 

To  send  congratulations  to  the  man. 

Who  stands  so  well  affected  to  the  clan, 

* * * 4ie  whose  conscientious  mind. 

Does  universal  service  to  mankind. 

When  red  with  justice,  and  the  royal  cause. 

His  bloody  musket  shook  with  court  applause  : 
When  monarchs,  representatives  of  God, 

Honour’d  the  rascal  with  a gracious  nod. 

Three  ghosts  in  George’s  sanguine  field  were 
seen. 

And  two  struck  horror  into  Bethnal  Green. 

Soft  pity’s  voice,  unnotic’d  by  the  crown. 

Stole  in  a murmur  through  the  weeping  town  ; 
VOL.  I.  3 


34  ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 

And  freedom,  wandVing  restless  and  alone, 

Saw  no  redress  expected  from  the  throne : 

Then  bade  remonstrance  wear  a bolder  dress, 
And  loudly  supplicate,  and  force  success. 

^ * heard,  and  resting  on  his  mace, 

The  usual  fees,  my  lord,  and  state  the  case. 

Three  thousand,  and  reversion  to  your  son : 

The  seals  my  lord  are  mine,  the  matter ’s  done. 
This  house  of  foolish  cits,  and  drunken  boys. 
Offends  my  ears,  hke  Broderip’s  ^ horrid  noise : 
’Tis  a flat  riot  by  the  statute  made. 

Destructive  to  our  happiness  and  trade. 

Thy  action  * * * * is  just  in  law. 

In  the  defence  of  ministry  1 'll  draw ; 

Nor  doubt  I when,  in  solemn  pomp  array’d. 

To  act  as  bravely,  be  as  richly  paid. 

gQ  * ^ * * spoke,  and  in  his  usual  way. 

When  giving  out  his  syllables  for  pay. 

With  happy  fluency  he  scatter’d  round 
His  nicely  cull’d  varieties  of  sound  : 

Unmeaning,  unconnected,  false,  unfair. 

All  he  can  boast  is — modulated  air. 

To  bribe  the  common  council  to  protest : 

To  learn  a witless  alderman  to  jest ; 

The  father  of  the  city  to  deprav(3. 

And  add  the  humm’d  apostate  to  the  knave, 

Who  wisely  disinherits  his  first-born. 

And  doats  upon  the  blossom  of  his  horn ; 

1 A Bristol  organist,  who  otfended  Chatterton  by  turning 
him  out  of  the  organ-loft. 


KEW  GARDENS. 


35 


To  fill  up  places  by  preferment  void, 

Is  Dyson  by  his  quadruples  employed ; 

He  bears  the  message  of  the  garter’d  trate ; 

The  running  footman  to  the  favour’d  great : 

When  spent  with  labour,  overgrown  with  spoil, 
Some  barony  or  earldom  pays  his  toil. 

Whilst  two  chief  actors  wisely  keep  away, 

And  two  before  the  mystic  curtain  play ; 

The  goddess,  mourning  for  her  absent  god. 
Approves  the  flying  measures  with  a nod ; 

Her  approbation,  with  her  pow’r  combin’d, 

Exalts  her  tools  above  the  common  kind ; 

She  turns  the  movements  of  the  dark  machine. 
Nor  is  her  management  of  state  unseen ; 
Regardless  of  the  world  she  still  turns  round. 

And  tumbles  * * * * to  his  native  ground. 

Great  in  possession  of  a mystic  ring. 

She  leads  the  Lords  and  Commons  in  a string. 
Where  is  the  modest  muse  of  Jones  retired,^ 

So  bashful,  so  impatiently  admir’d  ? 

Ah ! is  that  noble  emulation  dead, 

Which  bade  the  laurels  blossom  on  his  head. 
When  Kew’s  ^ enchanting  heap  of  stones  was 
sung. 

In  strains  superior  to  a mortal  tongue  ? 

1 Henry  Jones,  author  of  “ the  Earl  of  Essex,”  and  other 
pieces.  He  had  been  a bricklayer,  in  Ireland,  before  he  wfis 
taken  under  the  protection  of  the  late  Earl  of  Chesterfield. 

Chatterton. 

2 See  “ Kew  Garden,”  a poem,  in  two  cantos.  By  Henr\ 
oones,  4to.  1767. — Chatterton. 


36 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


And  kitchen  gardens  most  luxurious  glow’d, 

With  flow’rs  which  ne’er  in  Mayor’s  window 
blow’d ; 

Where  cabbages,  exotically  divine, 

Were  tagg’d  in  feet,  and  measur’d  with  a line  ? 

All ! what  invention  graced  the  happy  strain  ; 
Well  might  the  laureate  bard  of  Kew  be  vain. 

Thy  Clifton^  too  ! how  justly  is  the  theme, 

As  much  the  poet’s  as  his  jingling  dream. 

Who  but  a muse  inventive,  great,  like  thine, 
Could  honour  Bristol  with  a nervous  line  ? 

What  gen’rous,  honest  genius  would  have  sold 
To  knaves  and  catamites  his  praise  for  gold  ? 

To  leave  alone  the  notions  which  disgrace 
This  hawking,  peddling,  catamitish  place. 

Did  not  thy  iron  conscience  blush  to  write 
Phis  tophet  of  the  gentle  arts  polite  ? 

Lost  to  all  learning,  elegance,  and  sense, 

Long  had  the  famous  city  told  her  pence, 

Av’rice  sat  brooding  in  her  white-wash’d  cell. 

And  pleasure  had  a hut  at  Jacob’s  Well.^ 

Poor  Hickey,  ruin’d  by  his  fine  survey. 
Perpetuates  * * * * in  the  saving  lay. 

A mean  assembly  room,  absurdly  built. 

Boasted  one  gorgeous  lamp  of  copper  gilt ! 

With  farthing  candles,  chandeliers  of  tin. 

And  services  of  water,  rum,  and  gin ; 

1 “ Clifton,  a poem,  in  two  cantos,  including  Bristol  and  aL 
’C8  environs.”  By  Henry  Jones,  4to.  1766. — Chatterton. 

* Where  the  old  theatre  at  Bristol  stood. 


KEW  GARDENS. 


37 


There  in  the  dull  solemnity  of  wigs, 

The  dancing  bears  of  commerce  murder  jigs  ; 
Here  dance  the  dowdy  belles  of  crooked  trunk, 
And  often,  very  often,  reel  home  drunk ; 

Here  dance  the  bucks  with  infinite  delight, 

And  club  to  pay  the  fiddlers  for  the  night. 

While  Broderip’s  hum-drum  symphonies  of 
flats 

Rival  the  harmony  of  midnight  cats. 

What  charms  has  music,  when  great  Brodeiip 
sweats, 

To  torture  sound  to  what  his  brother  sets. 

With  scraps  of  ballad  tunes,  and  gude  Scotch 
sangs, 

Which  godlike  Ramsjiy  to  his  bagpipe  twangs ; 
With  tatter’d  fragments  of  forgotten  plays  ; 

With  Playford’s  melody  to  Sternhold’s  lays, 

This  pipe  of  science  mighty  Broderip  comes, 

And  a strange,  unconnected  jumble  thrums. 
Rous’d  to  devotion  in  a sprightly  air. 

Danc’d  into  piety,  and  jigg’d  to  prayer ; 

A modern  hornpipe’s  murder  greets  our  ears, 

The  heav’nly  music  of  domestic  spheres ; 

The  flying  band  in  swift  transition  hops 
Through  all  the  tortur’d,  vile  burlesque  of  stops. 
Sacred  to  sleep,  in  superstitious  key, 

Dull,  doleful  diapasons  die  away  ; 

Sleep  spreads  his  silken  wings,  and  lull’d  by 
sound. 

The  vicar  slumbers,  and  the  snore  goes  round  : 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 

Whilst  Broderip  at  his  passive  organ  groans 
Through  all  his  slow  variety  of  tones. 

How  unlike  Allen  ! Allen^  is  divine  ! 

His  touch  is  sentimental,  tender,  fine  ; 

No  little  affectations  e’er  disgrac’d 
His  more  refin’d,  his  sentimental  taste : 

He  keeps  the  passions  with  the  sound  in  play, 
And  the  soul  trembles  with  the  trembling  key.^ 
The  groves  of  Kew,  however  misapplied 
To  serve  the  purposes  of  lust  and  pride, 

1 Organist  of  RedclifF  Church,  and  also  of  Temple. 

2 It  is  a curious  fact,  that  in  the  poem  of  Kew  Gardens, 
there  are  consecutively  fifty  lines  transplanted  from  a yet  un- 
published poem,  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Richard  Smith 
called  “ The  Exhibition;  ” and,  scattered  here  and  there,  are 
repeatedly  three  or  four  continuous  lines  borrowed  from  the 
same  production,  which  is,  by  the  by,  a most  infamously 
satirical  tirade  against  the  Doctors,  the  Surgeons,  and  the 
Clergymen  of  the  day.  Perhaps  it  would  be  awkward,  and 
no  very  easy  matter,  to  fill  up  with  the  names  the  various 

hiatus — the  initial  and  tail  letters  together  with  the 

and  the  * * * which  occur  in  every  line  of  the  “ Kew 
Gardens,”  but  without  it  the  poem  is  almost  unintelligible 
and  the  wit  lost,  or  nearly  so,  and  this  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at  after  the  lapse  of  sixty  years. — Bristol  Paper, 

Chatterton  wrote  also  an  indecent  satirical  poem,  called 
“ The  Exhibition,”  occasioned  by  the  improper  behaviour  of 
a person  in  Bristol.  The  satire  of  this  poem  is  local,  and  the 
characters  of  most  of  the  surgeons  in  Bristol  are  delineated 
in  it.  Some  descriptive  passages  in  this  poem  have  great 
merit.  Thus,  speaking  of  a favourite  organist,  probably  Mr 
,illen,  he  says : — 

“ He  keeps  the  passions  with  the  sound  in  play. 

And  the  soul  trembles  with  the  trembling  key.” 

Dr.  Gregory 


KEW  GARDENS. 


39 


Were,  bj  the  greater  monarch’s  care,  design’d 
A place  of  conversation  for  the  mind  ; 

Where  solitude  and  silence  should  remain, 

And  conscience  keep  her  sessions  and  arraign. 
But  ah  ! how  fallen  from  that  better  state  ! 

Tis  now  a heathen  temple  of  the  great ; 

Where  sits  the  female  pilot  of  the  helm. 

Who  shakes  oppression’s  fetters  through  the 
realm ; 

Her  name  is  tyranny,  and  in  a string 
She  leads  the  shadow  of  an  infant  king ; ^ 
Dispenses  favours  with  a royal  hand. 

And  marks,  like  destiny,  what  lord  shall  stand  ; 
Her  fourfold  representative  displays 
How  future  statesmen  may  their  fortune  raise ; 
Wliile  tlu'onging  multitudes  their  offerings  bring, 
And  bards,  like  Jones,  their  panegyrics  sing. 

The  loyal  alderman,  a troop  alone. 

Protest  their  infamy  to  serve  the  throne ; 

The  merchant-tailor  minister  declares 
He  ’ll  mutilate  objections  with  his  shears. 

Sir  Pobert,  in  his  own  importance  big, 

Settles  his  potent,  magisterial  wig : 

Having  another  legacy  in  view, 

Accepts  the  measures  and  improves  it  too. 

Before  the  altar  all  the  suppliants  bow, 

And  would  repeat  a speech  if  they  knew  how ; 

1 See  the  impudent  frontispiece  to  the  third  volume  of  the 
‘New  Foundling  Hospital  for  Wit.*’ 


40 


ACKNOAVLEDGED  POEMS. 


A gracious  nod  the  speaking  image  gave, 

And  scatter’d  honours  upon  every  knave. 

The  loyal  sons  of  Caledonia  came, 

And  paid  their  secret  homage  to  the  dame, 

Then  swore,  by  all  their  hopes  of  future  reign, 
Each  measure  of  the  junto  to  maintain. 

The  orders  of  the  ministry  to  take. 

And  honour  * * * * for  his  father’s  sake. 

Well  pleased  the  goddess  dignified  his  grace, 

And  scatter’d  round  the  benefits  of  place ; 

With  other  pensions  blest  liis  lordship’s  post. 

And  smiled  on  murder’d  * * * * injur’d  ghost 
Through  ail  the  happy  lovers’  num’rous  clan, 

The  inexhausted  tides  of  favour  ran : 

* * * * happy  in  a name. 

Emerg’d  from  poverty  to  wealth  and  fame ; 

And  English  taxes  paid,  (and  scarcely  too,) 

The  noble  generosity  of  Kew. 

Kew ! happy  subject  for  a lengthened  lay. 

Though  thousands  write,  there ’s  something  still 
to  say ; 

Thy  garden’s  elegance,  thy  owner’s  state, 

The  highest  in  the  present  list  of  fate. 

Are  subjects  where  the  muse  may  wildly  range, 
[Insatiate,  in  variety  of  change ; 

13ut  hold,  my  dedication  is  forgot. 

Now  shall  I praise  some  late  ennobled  Scot? 
Exalt  the  motto  of  a Highland  lord. 

And  prove  him  great,  like  Guthrie,^  by  record  ? 

1 William  Guthrie,  compiler  of  the  “ Complete  History 
of  the  English  Peerage,”  4to.  1762. 


KEW  GARDENS. 


41 


(Though  were  the  truth  to  all  the  nobles  known, 
The  vouchers  he  refers  to  are  his  own.) 

Shall  I trace  ^ ’s  powerful  pedigree, 

Or  show  him  in  an  attorney’s  clerk,  like  me  ? 

Or  shall  I rather  give  to  * * * * its  due, 

^And  to  a Burgum  recommend  my  Kew  ? 

Why  sneers  the  sapient  Broughton  at  the  man  ? 
Broughton  can’t  boast  the  merit  Burgum  can. 
How  lofty  must  imagination  soar. 

To  reach  absurdities  unknown  before ! 

Thanks  to  thy  pinions,  Broughton,  thou  hast 
brought 

From  the  moon’s  orb  a novelty  of  thought. 

Burgum  wants  learning — see  the  letter’d  throng 
Banter  his  English  in  a Latin  song. 

If  in  his  jests  a discord  should  appear, 

A dull  lampoon  is  innocently  dear : 

Ye  sage,  Broughtonian,  self-sufficient  fools. 

Is  this  the  boasted  justice  of  the  schools  ? 
Burgum  has  parts,  parts  which  will  set  aside 
The  labour’d  acquisitions  of  your  pride ; 
Uncultivated  now  his  genius  lies. 

Instruction  sees  his  latent  talents  rise ; 

His  gold  is  bullion,  yours  debas’d  with  brass, 
Imprest  with  folly’s  head  to  make  it  pass : 

But  Burgum  swears,  so  loud,  so  indiscreet. 

His  thunders  echo  through  the  list’ning  street ; 

Ye  rigid  Christians,  formally  severe, 

Blind  to  his  charities,  his  oaths  you  hear ; 


1 The  Bristol  pewtorer. 


12 


ACKNOWLEDGED 


Oijserve  his  actions — Calumny  must  own 
A noble  soul  is  in  these  actions  shown : 

Though  dark  this  bright  original  you  paint, 
rd  ra'her  be  a Burgum  than  a saint. 

Hail,  Inspiration  ! whose  Cimmerian  night 
Gleams  into  day  with  every  flying  light : 

If  Moses  caught  thee  at  the  parted  flood ; 

If  David  found  thee  in  a sea  of  blood  ; 

If  Mahomet  with  slaughter  drench’d  thy  soil, 
On  loaded  asses  bearing  off  the  spoil ; 

If  thou  hast  favour’d  Pagan,  Turk,  or  Jew, 
Say,  had  not  Broughton  inspiration  too  ? 

Such  rank  absurdities  debase  his  line, 

I almost  could  have  sworn  he  copied  thine. 
Hail,  Inspiration ! whose  auspicious  ray 
Immortaliz’d  great  Armstrong  ^ in  a day : 
Armstrong,  whose  Caledonian  genius  flies 
Above  the  reach  of  humble  judgment’s  ties ; 
Whose  lines  prosaic,  regularly  creep. 

Sacred  to  dulness  and  congenial  sleep. 

Hail,  Inspiration  ! whose  mysterious  wings 
Are  strangers  to  what  rigid  * * * * sings ; 

By  him  thy  airy  voyages  are  curb’d. 

Nor  moping  wisdom ’s  by  thy  flight  disturb’d ; 
To  ancient  lore,  and  musty  precepts  bound, 
Thou  art  forbid  the  range  of  fairy  ground. 


1 “ Day,  an  epistle  to  John  Wilkes,  Esq.**  4to.  176 — . This 
poem  was  written  by  Dr.  Armstrong,  but  is  not  collected  in 
his  works. — Chatterton. 


KEVV  GARDENS. 


43 


Irene  ^ creeps  so  classical  and  dry, 

None  but  a Greek  philosopher  can  cry ; 

Through  five  long  acts  unletter’d  heroes  sleep, 
And  critics  by  the  square  of  learning  weep  ; 
Hark ! what’s  the  horrid  bellowing  from  the  staged 
Oh ! ’tis  the  ancient  chorus  of  the  age ; 

Grown  wise,  the  judgment  of  the  town  refines, 
And  ill  a philosophic  habit  shines ; 

Models  each  pleasure  in  scholastic  taste. 

And  heav’nly  Greece  is  copied  and  disgrac’d. 

The  false  alarm  in  * * * and  subject  great. 

The  mighty  Atlas  of  a falling  state. 

Which  makes  us  happy,  insolent,  and  free  ; 

O godlike  inspiration  ! came  from  thee. 

* * * ^ wliose  brazen  countenance,  like  mine 

Scorns  in  the  polish  of  a blush  to  shine. 

Scrupled  to  vindicate  his  fallen  grace, 

Or  hint  he  acted  right — till  out  of  place. 

Why  will  the  lovers  of  the  truth  deplore. 

That  miracles  and  wonders  are  no  more  ? 

Why  will  the  deists,  impudently  free. 

Assert  what  cannot  now,  could  never  be  ? 

Why  will  religion  suffer  the  reproach. 

Since  * * * * dresses  well  and  keeps  a coach  ? 
Bristol  and  * * * * have  bestow’d  their  pence, 

* * * after  * * * echo’d  sense. 

Since  * * ^ * once  by  providence  or  chance, 

Tumbled  his  length’ning  quavers  in  a dance : 


1 Dr.  Johnson’s  unsucoossful  tragedy. 


44 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


SIiKje  Catcott  seem’d  to  reason,  and  display 
The  meaning  of  the  words  he  meant  to  say ; 

Since  Warburton,  his  native  pride  forgot, 

Bow’d  to  the  garment  of  the  ruling  Scot ; 

And  offered  * * * * ghost  (a  welcome  gift) 

And  hop’d,  in  gratitude,  to  have  a lift ; 

An  universal  primacy,  at  least, 

A fit  reward  for  such  a stirring  priest. 

Since  Horne  imprudently  display’d  his  zeal, 

And  made  his  foe  the  powerful  reasons  feel : 

Since  * * * has  meaning  in  his  last  discourse  5 
Since  * * * * borrow’d  honesty  by  force, 
And  trembled  at  the  measures  of  the  friend 
His  infant  conscience  shudder’d  to  defend ; 

Since  * * * in  his  race  of  vice  outrun, 

Scrupled  to  do  what  * * * * since  hath 

done. 

Hail,  Inspiration ! Catcott  learns  to  preach, 

And  classic  Lee  attempts  by  thee  to  teach ; 

By  inspiration  North  directs  his  tools, 

* * * above  by  inspiration  rules  ; 

Distils  the  thistles  of  the  garter’d  crew. 

And  drains  the  sacred  reservoirs  of  Kew. 

Inspir’d  with  hopes  of  rising  in  the  kirk, 

Here  * * * * whines  his  Sunday’s  journey 

work ; 

Soft  * * * * undeniably  a saint, 

Whimpers  in  accent  so  extremely  faint, 

You  see  the  substance  of  his  empty  prayer. 

His  nothing  to  the  purpose  in  his  air; 


KEW  GARDENS. 


45 


His  sermons  have  no  arguments,  ’tis  true, 

Would  jou  have  sense  and  pretty  figures  too  ? 
With  what  a swimming  elegance  and  ease 
He  scatters  out  distorted  similes! 

It  matters  not  how  wretchedly  applied. 

Saints  are  permitted  to  set  sense  aside  * 

This  oratorial  novelty  in  town 
Dies  into  fame,  and  ogles  to  renown ; 

The  dowdy  damsels  of  his  chosen  tribe 
Are  fee’d  to  heaven,  his  person  is  the  bribe ; 

All  who  can  superficial  talk  admire. 

His  vanity,  not  beauty,  sets  on  fire : 

Enough  of  ^ ^ ^ let  him  ogle  still. 

Convince  with  nonsense,  and  with  fopp’ry  kill, 
Pray  for  the  secret  measures  of  the  great. 

And  hope  the  Lord  will  regulate  the  state : 

Florid  as  Klopstock,  and  as  quick  as  me. 

At  double  epithet  or  simile ; 

His  despicable  talents  cannot  harm 
Those  who  defy  a Johnson’s  false  alarm. 

Hail,  Inspiration ! piously  I kneel, 

And  call  upon  thy  sacred  name  with  zeal ; 

Come,  spread  thy  sooty  pinions  o’er  my  pen. 
Teach  me  the  secrets  of  the  lords  of  men ; 

In  visionary  prospects  let  me  see. 

How  * * * employs  his  sense,  deriv’d  from 

thee, 

Disjday  the  mystic  sibyl  of  the  isle. 

And  dress  her  wrinkled  features  in  a smile 


IG 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Of  past  and  secret  measures  let  me  tell, 

How  * * * * pilfer’d  power,  and  Chatham 

fell : 

Chatham,  whose  patriotic  actions  wear 
One  single  brand  of  infamy — the  peer; 

Whose  popularity  again  thinks  fit 
To  lose  the  coronet,  revive  the  Pitt ; 

And  in  the  upper  house  (where  leading  peers 
Practise  a minuet  step,  or  scratch  their  ears,) 

He  warmly  undertakes  to  plead  the  cause 
Of  injur’d  liberty,  and  broken  laws. 

Hail,  Inspiration ! from  whose  fountain  flow 
The  strains  which  circulate  through  all  the  row, 
With  humblest  reverence  thy  aid  I ask. 

For  this  laborious  and  herculean  task. 

How  difiicult  to  make  a piece  go  down 
With  booksellers,  reviewers,  and  the  town ; 

None  with  a Christian,  charitable  love, 

A kind  and  fixed  intention  to  approve, 

The  wild  excursions  of  the  muse  will  read. 

Alas ! I was  not  born  beyond  the  Tweed  ; 

To  public  favour  I have  no  pretence. 

If  public  favour  is  the  child  of  sense : 

To  paraphrase  on  home  in  Armstrong’s  rhymes, 
To  decorate  Fingal  in  sounding  chimes. 

The  self-sufficient  muse  was  never  known. 

But  shines  in  trifling  dulness  all  her  own. 

Whei’e,  rich  with  painted  bricks  and  lifeless 
white. 

Four  dirty  alleys  in  a cross  unite. 


KEW  GARDENS. 


47 


Wliere  avaricious  sons  of  commerce  meet, 

To  do  their  public  business  in  the  street ; 

There  stands  a dome  to  dulness  ever  dear, 

\Vliere  * * * * models  justice  by  the 

square ; 

Where  bulky  aldermen  display  their  sense. 

And  Bristol  patriots  wager  out  their  pence  : 

Here,  in  the  malice  of  my  stars  confin’d, 

I call  the  muses  to  divert  my  mind ; 

Come  inspiration ! mysticly  instil 
The  spirit  of  a * * * ^ in  my  quill. 

An  equal  terror  to  the  small  and  great. 

To  lash  an  alderman  or  knave  of  state. 

Here  ♦ * * thund’ring  through  the  spacious 

court. 

Grounds  equity  on  Jeffries’s  report ; 

And  oft,  explaining  to  the  lords  of  trade, 

Proves  himself  right  by  statutes  never  made ; 

^ ^ politicians  see 

Another  * * * * in  epitome. 

If  good  Sir  * * * * (lid  not  bawl  so  loud. 

What  has  he  else  superior  to  the  crowd  ? 

His  peruke  boasts  solemnity  of  law  ; 

E’en  there  might  counsellors  detect  a flaw. 

But  Providence  is  just,  as  doctors  tell. 

That  triple  mystery ’s  a good  sentinel. 

Was  * ^ ^ * not  so  noisy,  and  more  wise, 

The  body  corporate  would  close  its  eyes. 

Useless  the  satire,  stoically  wise, 

Bristol  can  literary  rubs  despise  ; 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


You  11  wonder  whence  the  wisdom  may  proceed  ; 
’Tis  doubtful  if  her  aldermen  can  read ; 

This  as  a certainty  the  muse  may  tell, 

None  of  their  common-councilmen  can  spell : 
Why  busy  * * * ^ ^vilt  thou  trouble  * * ^ 

Their  worships  hear,  and  understand  like  thee. 

Few  beings  absolutely  boast  the  man, 

Few  have  the  understanding  of  a Spanne  ; 

Every  idea  of  a city  mind 

Is  to  commercial  incidents  confin’d : 

True  ! some  exceptions  to  this  gen’ral  rule 
Can  show  the  merchant  blended  with  the  fool. 

* ^ ^ * with  magisterial  air  commits  ; 

* ^ ^ presides  the  chief  of  city  wits ; 

In  jigs  and  country  dances  * * * * shines, 

* * * * slumbers  over  Mallet's  lines : 

His  ample  visage,  oft  on  nothing  bent, 

Sleeps  in  vacuity  of  sentiment ; 

When  in  the  venerable  gothic  hall. 

Where  fetters  rattle,  evidences  bawl. 

Puzzled  in  thought  by  equity  or  law. 

Into  their  inner  room  his  senses  draw ; 

There,  as  they  sneer  in  consultation  deep, 

The  foolish  vulgar  deem  him  fast  asleep. 

If  silent  * * * * senatorial  pride. 

Rose  into  being  as  his  av’rice  died. 

Scattering  his  hundreds,  rattling  in  his  coach. 
What  mortal  wonders  at  the  fair  * * * * 

Though  royal  Horners  burn  in  powder’d  flames, 
When  fell  the  pretty  nymph  of  many  names  ? 


KEW  GARDENS. 


49 


Still  we  behold  her  fieiy  virtue  stand, 

As  firm  as  * * * * regulating  band. 

► * * * within  whose  sacerdotal  face, 

Add  all  the  honorary  signs  of  grace ; 

Great  in  his  accent,  greater  in  his  size, 

But  mightier  still  in  turtle  and  mince-pies : 

Whose  entertaining  flows  of  eloquence. 

In  spite  of  affectation,  will  be  sense. 

Wliy  patriotic  * * ^ * art  thou  still  ? 

Wliat  pension’d  lethargy  has  seiz’d  thy  quill  ? 
Hast  thou  forgot  the  murmurs  of  applause 
Which  buzz’d  about  the  leader  of  the  cause  ; 
When  drest  in  metaphors  the  fluent  * * * 

Rose  from  his  chair,  and  slumb’ring  drawl’d  his 
speech  ? 

■\Ydien  * * * * fir’d  with  loyalty  and  place, 

Forsook  his  breeding  to  defend  his  Grace: 

And  saving  * * * * from  a furious  blow. 

Insisted  on  his  plan,  a double  row. 

Rise  * * * * bid  remonstrance  tell  the 

throne. 

When  freedom  suffers,  London ’s  not  alone  : 

Take  oflP  the  load  of  infamy  and  shame 
Which  lies  on  Bristol’s  despicable  name ; 

Revive  thy  ardour  for  thy  country’s  cause, 

And  live  again  in  honour  and  applause. 

Alas  ! the  patriot  listens  to  his  whore. 

And  popularity  is  heard  no  more  ; 

The  dying  voice  of  liberty ’s  forgot. 

No  more  he  drinks  damnation  to  the  Scot 

4 


VOL.  I, 


50 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


* HO  longer  in  his  quarrel  fights  ; 

No  furthei  dulness  witty  * * * * writes : 

In  organs  and  an  organist  renowned, 

He  rises  into  notice  by  a sound, 

Commemorates  his  spirit  in  a tone, 

* * * created,  rival  of  a groan  : 

O be  his  taste  immortal  as  the  lays ! 

For  * * * invents  and  tuneful  * * * plays ; 

And  this  harmonious  gangling  of  the  spheres 
-To  give  the  whole  connection  Bristol  hears. 

Hail,  Kew  ! thy  more  important  powers  I 
sing. 

Powers  which  direct  the  conscience  of  a king; 
The  English  number  daringly  would  soar 
To  thy  first  power  * * * * 

^ ^ m ^ m 

Come,  Newton,^  and  assist  me  to  explain 
The  hidden  meanings  of  the  present  reign. 
Newton,  accept  the  tribute  of  a line. 

From  one  whose  humble  genius  honours  thine  ; 
Mysterious  shall  the  mazy  numbers  seem, 

To  give  the  matter  for  a future  dream ; 

Thy  happy  talent  meanings  to  untie 
My  vacancy  of  meaning  may  supply  ; 

And  where  the  muse  is  witty  in  a dash, 

Thy  explanations  may  enforce  the  lash. 

How  shall  the  line,  grown  servile  in  respect. 

To  * * * and  ♦ * * * infamy  direct, 


1 Bishop  of  Bristol. 


K\:W  GARDENS. 


51 


[Tnless  a wise  * * * * intervene, 

How  shall  I satirize  the  sleepy  dean  ? 

Perhaps  the  muse  might  fortunately  strike 
A highly  finished  picture,  very  like ; 

Bat  deans  are  all  so  lazy,  dull,  and  fat. 

None  could  be  certain  worthy  Barton  ^ sat. 

Come  then,  my  Newton,  leave  the  musty  lines 
Where  revelation’s  farthing  candle  shines  ; 

In  search  of  hidden  truths  let  others  go  — 

Be  thou  the  fiddler  to  my  puppet-show. 

What  are  these  hidden  truths  but  secret  lies, 
Which  from  diseased  imaginations  rise  ? 

What  if  our  politicians  should  succeed 
In  fixing  up  the  ministerial  creed. 

Who  could  such  golden  arguments  refuse. 

Which  melts  and  proselytes  the  hardened  Jews  ? 
WTien  universal  reformation  bribes 
With  words,  and  wealthy  metaphors,  the  tribes, 
To  empty  pews  the  brawny  chaplain  swears, 
WTiilst  none  but  trembling  superstition  hears  ; 
^When  ministers,  with  sacerdotal  hands. 

Baptize  the  flock  in  streams  of  golden  sands. 
Through  every  town  conversion  wings  her  way, 
4nd  conscience  is  a prostitute  for  pay.  ) 

Faith  removes  mountains  ; like  a modern  dean, 
Faith  can  see  virtues  which  were  never  seen : 
Our  pious  ministry  this  sentence  quote. 

To  prove  their  instrument’s  superior  vote, 


1 Dean  of  Bristol. 


52 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Whilst  * * ^ * liappy  in  his  lordship’s  voice, 
Bids  faith  persuade  us  ’tis  the  people’s  choice. 
This  mountain  of  objections  to  remove, 

This  knotty  rotten  argument  to  prove, 

Faith  insufficient,  * * * * caught  the  pen, 

And  proved  by  demonstration  one  was  ten : 

What  boots  it  if  he  reasoned  right  or  no  ? 

’Twas  orthodox — the  Thane  would  have  it  so./ 
Whoe’er  shall  doubts  and  false  conclusions  draw, 
Against  the  inquisition  of  the  law, 

Yv^ith  jailers,  chains,  and  pillories  must  plead, 

And  ^ conscience  settle  right  his  creed 

Is*  * * ^’s  conscience  then,  will  Freedom  cry, 
A standard  block  to  dress  our  notions  by  ? 

Why  what  a blunder  has  the  fool  let  fall. 

That  * * * * has  no  conscience,  none  at  all . 

Pardon  me.  Freedom,  this  and  something  more. 
The  knowing  writer  might  have  known  before ; 
But  bred  in  Bristol’s  mercenary  cell, 

Compell’d  in  scenes  of  avarice  to  dwell. 

What  gen’rous  passion  can  my  dross  refine  ? 
What  besides  interest  can  direct  the  line  ? 

And  should  a galling  truth,  like  this,  be  told. 

By  me,  instructed  here  to  slave  for  gold. 

My  prudent  neighbours  (who  can  read)  could 
see. 

Another  Savage  ^ to  be  starved  in  me. 


’ The  celebrated  Richard  Savage,  son  to  the  Earl  of  Rivers, 
jvho  died  in  jail  at  Bristol. 


KEW  GARDENS. 


53 


Faith  is  a powerful  virtue  everywhere ; 

By  this  once  Bristol  drest  for  Cato  * * * 

But  now  the  blockheads  grumble,  * ^ * made, 

Lord  of  this  idol,  being  lord  of  trade. 

They  bawl’d  for  * * * when  little  in  their  eyes, 
But  cannot  to  the  titled  villain  rise, 

This  state  credulity  a bait  for  fools, 

Employs  his  lordship’s  literary  tools  ; 

^ * a bishop  of  the  chosen  sect ; 

A ruling  pastor  of  the  Lord’s  elect  : 

Keeps  journals,  posts,  and  magazines  in  awe, 

And  parcels  out  his  only  statute  law.  ^ 

Would  you  the  bard’s  veracity  dispute  ? 

He  borrows  persecution’s  scourge  of  Bute, 

An  excommunication  satire  writes, 

And  the  slow  mischief  trifles  till  it  bites. 

This  faith,  the  subject  of  a late  divine, 

Is  not  as  unsubstantial  as  his  line ; 

Though  blind  and  dubious  to  behold  the  right, 

Its  optics  mourn  a fixed  Egyptian  night. 

Yet  things  unseen  are  seen  so  very  clear. 

The  new  fresh  muster  would  begin  the  year ; 

She  knows  that  * * * bj  * * * and  con- 

science led. 

Will  hold  his  honours  till  his  favour ’s  dead. 

She  knows  that  ^ ^ * e’er  he  can  be  great, 

Must  practice  at  the  target  of  the  state : 
if  then  his  erring  pistol  should  not  kill, 

^ * must  remain  a ^ * 


still. 


54 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


His  gracious  mistress,  gen’rous  to  the  brave, 

Will  not  neglect  the  necessary  knave, 

Since  pious  * * * ^ is  become  his  Grace, 

^ ^ ^ * turns  pimp,  to  occupy  her  place. 

Say  * * * * in  the  honours  of  the  door, 

How  propcjrly  a rogue  succeeds  a whore. 

She  knows  (the  subject  almost  slipt  my  quill 
Lost  in  that  pistol  of  a woman’s  will) — 

She  knows  that  * * ^ will  exercise  his  rod, 

The  worthiest  of  the  worthy  sons  of  God. 

Ah  ! (exclaims  Catcott)  this  is  saying  much ; 
The  scripture  tells  us  peacemakers  are  such. 

Who  can  dispute  his  title  ? Who  deny 
What  taxes  and  oppressions  testify  ? 

Who  of  the  * * * beatitude  can  doubt  ? 

Oh  ! was  but  * * * as  sure  of  being  out ! 

And  (as  I end  whatever  I begin) 

Was  Chatham  but  as  sure  of  being  in  ! 

* * * * foster-child  of  fate,  dear  to  a dame 

Whom  satire  freely  would,  but  dare  not,  name. 
Ye  plodding  barristers,  who  hunt  a flaw. 

What  treason  would  you  from  the  sentence  draw  ? 
Tremble,  and  stand  attentive  as  a dean. 

Know  royal  favour  is  the  dame  I mean ; 

To  sport  with  royalty  my  muse  forbears. 

And  kindly  takes  compassion  on  my  ears. 

When  once  Shebbeare  in  glorious  triumph  stood, 
Upon  a rostrum  of  distinguish’d  wood. 

Who  then  withheld  his  guinea,  or  his  praise. 

Or  envied  him  his  crown  of  English  bays  ? 


KEW  GARDENS. 


55 


But  now,  Modestus,^  truant  to  the  cause, 

Assists  tlie  pioneers  'who  sap  the  laws, 

Wreaths  infamy  round  a sinking  pen, 

Who  could  withhold  the  pillory  again  ? 

* * * lifted  into  notice  by  the  eyes 

Of  one  whose  optics  always  setting  rise  ; 

Forgive  a pun,  ye  rationals,  forgive 

A flighty  youth  as  yet  unlearnt  to  live  ; 

When  I have  conn’d  each  sage’s  musty  rule, 

I may  with  greater  reason  play  the  fool ; 

* * * * and  I in  ancient  lore  untaught. 

Are  always  with  our  natures  in  a fault ; 

Though  * * * * would  instruct  us  in  the 

part. 

Our  stubborn  morals  will  not  err  by  art. 

Having  in  various  starts  from  order  stray’d. 
We’ll  call  imagination  to  our  aid. 

See  * * * astride  upon  a wrinkled  hag. 

His  hand  replenish’d  with  an  open  bag ! 

When  fly  the  ghost  of  taxes  and  supplies, 

The  sales  of  places,  and  the  last  excise ; 

Upon  the  ground,  in  seemly  order  laid. 

The  Stuarts  stretch  the  niajesty  of  plaid  ; 

Rich  with  the  poor  dependence  bow  the  head, 
And  see  their  hopes  arising  from  the  dead. 

His  countrymen  were  muster’d  into  place. 

And  a Scotch  piper  rose  above  his  Grace. 

But  say,  astrologers,  could  this  be  strange  ? 

The  lord  of  the  ascendant  ruled  the  change  ; 


^ The  signature  of  a writer  in  the  newspapers  of  the  time. 


56 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


And  music,  whether  bagpipes,  fiddles,  drums, 

All  that  has  sense  or  meaning  overcomes. 

See  now  this  universal  fav’rite  Scot, 

His  former  native  poverty  forgot. 

The  highest  member  of  the  corse  of  state. 

Where  well  he  plays  at  blindman’s  buff  with  fate 
If  fortune  condescends  to  bless  his  play. 

And  drop  a rich  Havannah  in  his  way. 

He  keeps  it  with  intention  to  release 
All  conquests  at  the  general  day  of  peace  : 

When  first  and  foremost  to  divide  the  spoil, 

Some  millions  down  might  satisfy  his  toil ; 

To  guide  the  car  of  war  he  fancied  not. 

Where  honour  and  no  money  could  be  got. 

The  Scots  have  tender  honours  to  a man  : 
Honour ’s  the  tie  which  bundles  up  the  clan : 
They  want  one  requisite  to  be  divine. 

One  requisite  in  which  all  others  shine  ; 

They  ’re  very  poor ; then  who  can  blame  the  hand 
Which  polishes  by  wealth  its  native  land  ? 

And  to  complete  the  worth  possest  before. 

Gives  every  Scotchman  one  perfection  more  ; 
Nobly  bestows  the  infamy  of  place, 

^ struts  about  in  doubled  lace. 
Who  says  * * * barter’d  peace,  and  wisely  sold 

His  king,  his  * * * * countrymen,  for  gold  ? 

When  ministerial  hirelings  proofs  deny. 

If  Musgrave  ^ could  not  prove  it,  how  can  I ? 

1 Dr.  Samuel  Musgrave,  who,  in  1769,  exhibited  a chaig<? 
gainst  some  great  persons,  of  having  sold  the  peace  con- 


KEW  GARDENS. 


57 


No  facts  unwarranted  shall  soil  my  quillj 
Suihce  it  there ’s  a strong  suspicion  still. 

When  * * * his  iron  rod  of  favour  shook, 

And  bore  bis  haughty  temper  in  his  look  ; 

Nor  yet  contented  with  his  boundless  sway, 
Which  all  perforce  must  outwardly  obey, 

He  thought  to  throw  his  chain  upon  the  mind  ; 
Nor  would  he  leave  conjecture  unconfin’d. 

We  saw  his  measures  wrong,  and  yet  in  spite 
Of  reason  we  must  think  those  measures  right ; 
Whilst  curb’d  and  check’d  by  his  imperious  reign. 
We  must  be  satisfied,  and  not  complain. 
Complaints  are  libels,  as  the  present  age 
Are  all  instructed  by  a law-wise  sage. 

Who,  happy  in  his  eloquence  and  fees, 

Advances  to  preferment  by  degrees  ; 

Trembles  to  think  of  such  a daring  step 
As  from  a tool  to  chancellor  to  leap. 

But  lest  his  prudence  should  the  law  disgrace. 

He  keeps  a longing  eye  upon  the  mace. 

Whilst  * * * was  suffer’d  to  pursue  his  plan ; 

And  ruin  freedom  as  he  rais’d  the  clan ; 

Could  not  his  pride,  his  universal  pride. 

With  working  undisturb’d  be  satisfied  ? 

But  when  we  saw  the  villainy  and  fraud. 

What  conscience  but  a Scotchman’s  could  applaud  ? 


eluded  in  1762.  He  was  examined  before  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, 29th  January,  1770,  when  his  information  was  voted 
Trivolous.  — Chatterton. 


58 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


But  yet  ’twas  nothing — cheating  in  our  sight, 

We  should  have  humm’d  ourselves,  and  thought 
him  right : 

This  faith,  established  by  the  mighty  Thane, 

Will  long  outlive  the  system  of  the  Dane ; 

This  faith — but  now  the  number  must  be  brief, 
All  human  things  are  center’d  in  belief ; 

And  (or  the  philosophic  sages  dream) 

All  our  most  true  ideas  only  seem : 

Faith  is  a glass  to  rectify  our  sight. 

And  teach  us  to  distinguish  wrong  from  right. 

By  this  corrected  * * * appears  a Pitt, 

And  candour  marks  the  lines  which  * * * * 

writ ; 

Then  let  this  faith  support  our  ruin’d  cause. 

And  give  us  back  our  liberties  and  laws : 

No  more  complain  of  fav’rites  made  by  lust. 

No  more  think  Chatham’s  patriot  reasons  just. 
But  let  the  Babylonish  harlot  see 
We  to  her  Baal  bow  the  humble  knee. 

Lost  in  the  praises  of  that  fav’rite  Scot, 

My  better  theme,  my  Newton,  was  forgot : 

Blest  with  a pregnant  wit,  and  never  known 
To  boast  of  one  impertinence  his  own. 

He  warp’d  his  vanity  to  serve  his  God, 

And  in  the  paths  of  pious  fathers  trod. 

Though  genius  might  have  started  something  new, 
He  honour’d  lawn,  and  proved  his  scripture  true ; 
No  literary  worth  presumed  upon. 

He  wrote,  the  understrapper  of  St.  John ; 


KEW  GARDENS. 


59 


Unraveird  every  mystic  simile, 

Rich  in  the  faith,  and  fanciful  as  me  ; 

Pull’d  revelation’s  secret  robes  aside. 

And  saw  what  priestish  modesty  would  hide ; 
Then  seiz’d  the  pen,  and  with  a good  intent 
Discover’d  hidden  meanings  never  meant. 

The  reader  who,  in  carnal  notions  bred. 

Has  Athanasius  without  rev’rence  read. 

Will  make  a scurvy  kind  of  lenten  feast 
Upon  the  tortur’d  offals  of  the  beast : 

But  if,  in  happy  superstition  taught, 

He  never  once  presumed  to  doubt  in  thought ; 
Like  Catcott,  lost  in  prejudice  and  pride. 

He  takes  the  lit’ral  meaning  for  his  guide ; 

Let  him  read  Newton,  and  his  bill  of  fare  : — 
What  prophecies  unprophesied  are  there  ! 

In  explanations  he ’s  so  justly  skill’d. 

The  pseudo  prophet’s  mysteries  are  fulhll’d  ; 

No  superficial  reasons  have  disgraced 
The  worthy  prelate’s  sacerdotal  taste ; 

No  flimsy  arguments  he  holds  to  view. 

Like  * * ^ * he  affirms  it,  and  ’tis  true. 

Faith,  Newton,  is  the  tott’ring  churchman’s  crutch, 
On  which  our  blest  religion  builds  so  much ; 

Thy  fame  would  feel  the  loss  of  this  suppoit. 

As  much  as  Sawney’s  instruments  at  court ; 

For  secret  services  without  a name. 

And  mysteries  in  religion,  are  the  same. 

But  to  return  to  state,  from  whence  the  muse 
In  wild  digression  smaller  themes  pursues ; 


w 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POE3IS. 


And  rambling  from  his  Grace’s  magic  rod, 
Descends  to  lash  the  ministers  of  God. 

Both  are  adventures  perilous  and  hard, 

And  often  bring  destruction  on  the  bard ; 

For  priests,  and  hireling  ministers  of  state. 

Are  priests  in  love,  infernals  in  their  hate : 

The  church,  no  theme  for  satire,  scorns  the  lash, 
And  will  not  suffer  scandal  in  a dash : 

Not  * * gQ  jQ  jjjg  juggling  game. 

Not  * * * so  careful  of  his  lady’s  name. 

Has  sable  lost  its  virtue  ? Will  the  bell 
No  longer  scare  a straying  sprite  to  hell  ? 

Since  souls,  when  animating  flesh,  are  sold 
For  benefices,  bishoprics,  and  gold  ; 

Since  mitres,  nightly  laid  upon  the  breast. 

Can  charm  the  nightmare  conscience  into  rest : 
And  learned  exorcists  very  lately  made 
Greater  improvements  in  the  living  trade ; 

Since  Warburton  (of  whom  in  future  rhymes) 
Has  settled  reformation  on  the  times  ; 

Whilst  from  the  teeming  press  his  numbers  fly, 
And,  like  his  reasons,  just  exist  and  die  ; 

Since  in  the  steps  of  clerical  degree 
All  through  the  telescope  of  fancy  see, 

(Though  fancy  under  reason’s  lash  may  fall. 

Yet  fancy  in  religion ’s  all  in  all:) 

Amongst  these  cassock’d  worthies,  is  there  one 

(Who  has  the  conscience  to  be  Freedom’s  son  r\ 
Horne,  patriotic  Horne,  will  join  the  cause, 

And  tread  on  mitres  to  procure  applause. 


KEW  GARDENS. 


G1 


Pri  pare  thj  book  and  sacerdotal  dress, 

To  lay  a walking  spirit  of  the  press, 

Who  knocks  at  midnight  at  his  lordship’s  door, 
And  roars  in  hollow  voice  — a hundred  more. 

A hundred  more  ! his  rising  greatness  cries, 
Astonishment  and  terror  in  his  eyes ; 

A hundred  more  ! by  G — I won’t  comply  : 

Give,  quoth  the  voice.  I’ll  raise  a hue  and  cry ; 
O’er  a wrong  scent  the  leading  beagle ’s  gone. 
Your  interrupted  measures  may  go  on  ; 

Grant  what  I ask.  I’ll  witness  to  the  Thane, 

I’m  not  another  Fanny  of  Cock  Lane. 

Enough,  says  Mungo,  reassume  the  quill ; 

And  what  we  can  afford  to  give,  we  will. 

When  * * * the  ministry  and  people’s  head. 

With  royal  favour  pension’d  * * * # dead ; 

His  works,  in  undeserved  oblivion  sunk. 

Were  read  no  longer,  and  the  man  was  tirunk. 
Some  blockhead,  ever  envious  of  his  fame. 
Massacred  * =**'  * * in  the  doctor’s  name  : 

The  public  saw  the  cheat,  and  wonder’d  not. 
Death  is  of  all  mortality  the  lot. 

* * * has  wrote  his  elegy,  and  penn’d 

A piece  of  decent  praise  for  such  a friend  ; 

And  universal  Cat-calls  testified. 

How  mourn’d  the  critics  when  the  genius  died. 
J3ut  now,  though  strange  the  fact  to  Deists  seem. 
His  ghost  is  risen  in  a vernal  theme. 

And  emulation  madden’d  all  the  row, 

Tc  catch  the  strains  wliich  from  a spectre  flow ; 


32 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


A.nd  print  the  ]*easons  of  a bard  deceased, 

Who  once  gave  all  the  town  a weekly  feast. 

As  beer,  to  ev’ry  drinking  purpose  dead. 

Is  to  a wondrous  metamorphose  led. 

And  open’d  to  the  actions  of  the  winds. 

In  vinegar  a resurrection  finds ; 

His  genius  dead,  and  decently  interr’d, 

The  clam’rous  noise  of  duns  sonorous  heard. 
Sour’d  into  life,  assum’d  the  heavy  pen. 

And  saw  existence  for  an  hour  again ; 

Scatter’d  his  thoughts  spontaneous  from  his  brain. 
And  prov’d  we  had  no  reason  to  complain  ; 
WTiilst  from  his  fancy  figures  budded  out. 

As  hair  on  humid  carcases  will  sprout. 

Horne,  set  this  restless,  shallow  spirit  still, 

And  from  his  venal  fingers  snatch  the  quill. 

If,  in  defiance  of  the  priestly  word. 

He  still  will  scribble  fioridly  absurd. 

North  is  superior  to  a potent  charm. 

To  lay  the  terrors  of  a false  alarm  : 

Another  hundred  added  to  his  five. 

No  longer  is  the  stumbling-block  alive ; 

Fix’d  in  his  chair,  contented  and  at  home, 

The  busy  rambler  will  no  longer  roam  ; 

Releas’d  from  servitude  (such  ’tis  to  think) 

He’ll  prove  it  perfect  happiness  to  drink : 

Once  (let  the  lovers  of  * * * * * weep) 

He  thought  it  perfect  happiness  to  sleep ; 

# # * * * wondrous  composition  came. 

To  give  the  audience  rest,  the  author  fame ; 


KEW  GARDENS. 


63 


A.  snore  was  much  more  grateful  than  a clap, 
Aaid  pit,  box,  gallery,  prov’d  it  in  a nap. 

Hail  * * * * chief  of  bards,  thy  rigid  laws 

Bestow’d  due  praise,  and  critics  snored  applause, 
K from  the  humblest  station,  in  a place 
By  writers  fix’d  eternal  in  disgrace ; 

Long  in  the  literary  world  unknown 
To  all  but  scribbling  blockheads  of  its  own  ; 

Then  only  introduced,  unhappy  fate ! 

The  subject  of  a satire’s  little  hate  ; 

Whilst  equally  the  butt  of  ridicule, 

The  town  was  dirty,  and  the  bard  a fool : — 

If  from  this  place,  where  catamites  are  found 
To  swarm  like  Scots  on  honorary  ground, 

I may  presume  to  exercise  the  pen, 

And  write  a greeting  to  the  best  of  men  : 

Health  to  the  ruling  minister  I send, 

Nor  has  that  minister  a better  friend. 

Greater,  perhaps,  in  titles,  pensions,  place, 

He  inconsiderately  prefers  his  Grace. 

Ah,  North  ! a humble  bard  is  better  far, 
Friendship  was  never  found  near  Fox’s  star ; 
.Bishops  are  not  by  office  orthodox : 

Who’d  wear  a title,  when  they’ve  titled  Fox  ? 

Nor  does  the  honorary  shame  stop  here. 

Have  we  not  *****  ^ * 

If  noble  murders,  as  in  tale  we’re  told. 

Made  heroes  of  the  ministers  of  old. 

In  noble  murders  ***** ’s  divine, 

His  merit  claims  the  laureated  line. 


64 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Let  officers  of  train  bands  wisely  try 
To  save  the  blood  of  citizens,  and  fly ; 

When  some  bold  urchin  beats  his  drum  in  sport, 
Or  tragic  trumpets  entertain  the  court ; 

The  captain  flies  through  every  lane  in  town, 
And  safe  from  danger  wears  his  civic  crown : 
Our  noble  secretary  scorn’d  to  run, 

But  with  his  magic  word  discharged  the  gun. 

I leave  him  to  the  comforts  of  his  breast. 

And  midnight  ghosts,  to  howl  him  into  rest. 
Health  to  the  minister  of  * * * the  tool, 

Who  with  the  httle  vulgar  seems  to  rule ; 

But  since  the  wiser  maxims  of  the  age 
Marks  for  a noddy  Ptolemy  the  sage ; 

Since  Newton  and  Copernicus  have  taught 
Our  blund’ring  senses  ever  are  in  fault ; 

The  wise  look  further,  and  the  wise  can  see 
The  hands  of  Sawney  actuating  thee  ; 

The  clockwork  of  thy  conscience  turns  about. 
Just  as  his  mandates  wind  thee  in  and  out. 

By  this  political  machine  my  rhymes 
Conceive  an  estimation  of  the  times ; 

And,  as  the  wheels  of  state  and  measures  move, 
See  how  time  passes  in  the  world  above : 

Whilst  tott’ring  on  the  slippery  edge  of  doubt, 

^ ^ * sees  his  train  bands  flying  out ; 

Thinks  the  minority-acquiring  state 

Will  undergo  a change,  and  soon  be  great ; ^ 

* * issues  out  his  hundreds  to  the  crew. 

Who  catch  the  atoms  of  the  golden  dew  ; 


KEW  GARDENS. 


G5 


The  etiquette  of  wise  Sir  Robert  takes 
The  doubtful  stand  resolv’d,  and  one  forsakes  ; 

He  shackles  every  vote  in  golden  chains, 

* in  his  list  of  slaves  maintains. 
Rest*  * * * hapless  spirit,  rest  and  drink, 

No  more  defile  thy  claret  glass  with  ink  : 

In  quiet  sleep  repose  thy  heavy  head, 

at  ^ disdains  to upon  the  dead ; 

Administration  will  defend  thy  fame. 

And  pensions  add  importance  to  thy  name. 

When  sovereign  judgment  owns  thy  works  divine, 
And  every  writer  of  reviews  is  thine. 

Let  busy  * * ^ * vent  his  little  spleen, 

And  spit  his  venom  in  a magazine. 

Health  to  the  minister  ! nor  will  I dare 
To  pour  out  flattery  in  his  noble  ear  ; 

His  virtue,  stoically  great,  disdains 
Smooth  adulation’s  entertaining  strains. 

And,  red  with  virgin  modesty,  withdraws 
From  wond’ring  crowds  and  murmurs  of  applause. 
Here  let  no  disappointed  rhymer  say. 

Because  his  virtue  shuns  the  glare  of  day. 

And,  like  the  conscience  of  a Bristol  dean. 

Is  never  by  the  subtlest  optic  seen. 

That  virtue  is  with  * * * a priestish  jest, 

By  which  a mere  nonentity ’s  exprest. 

No,  * * * is  strictly  virtuous,  pious,  wise. 

As  every  pension’d  * * * * testifies. 

But,  reader,  I had  rather  you  should  see 
His  virtues  from  another  than  from  me : 

5 


VOL.  T. 


66 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Bear  witness,  Bristol,  nobly  prove  that  I 
By  thee  or  Fox  was  never  paid  to  lie. 

Health  to  the  minister ! his  vices  known, 

(As  every  lord  has  vices  of  his  own. 

And  all  who  wear  a title  think  to  shine 
In  forming  follies  foreign  to  his  line ;) 

His  vices  shall  employ  my  ablest  pen. 

And  mark  him  out  a miracle  of  men. 

Then  let  the  muse  the  healing  strain  begin, 

And  stamp  repentance  upon  every  sin. 

Wliy  this  recoil  ? — And  will  the  dauntless  muse 
To  lash  a minister  of  state  refuse  ? 

What ! is  his  soul  so  black,  thou  canst  not  find 
Aught  hke  a human  virtue  in  his  mind  ? 

Then  draw  him  so,  and  to  the  public  tell 
Who  owns  this  representative  of  hell : 
Administration  lifts  her  iron  chain. 

And  truth  must  abdicate  her  lawful  reign. 

Oh,  Prudence ! if,  by  friends  or  counsel  sway’d, 
I had  thy  saving  institutes  obey’d. 

And,  lost  to  every  love  but  love  of  self, 

A wretch  hke  Burgum  living  but  in  pelf ; 

Then  happy  in  a coach  or  turtle  feast, 

I might  have  been  an  alderman  at  least. 

Sage  are  the  arguments  by  which  I’m  taught 
To  curb  the  wild  excursive  flights  of  thought : 
Let  Harris  wear  his  self-sufficient  air, 

Nor  dare  remark,  for  Harris  is  a mayor  ; 

If  Catcott’s  flimsy  system  ^ can’t  be  prov’d. 

Let  it  alone,  for  Catcott ’s  much  belov’d  ; 

1 Catcott  on  the  Deluge. 


KEW  GARDENS. 


G7 


If  Burgum  bought  a baron  for  a strange, 

The  man  has  credit,  and  is  great  on  change  ; 

If  Camplin  ungrammatically  spoke, 

^Tis  dang’rous  on  such  men  to  break  a joke ; 

If  you  from  satire  could  withhold  the  line. 

At  every  public  hall  perhaps  you ’d  dine. 

I must  confess,  exclaims  a prudent  sage. 

You’re  really  something  clever  for  your  age  : 
Your  lines  have  sentiment,  and  now  and  then 
A dash  of  satire  stumbles  from  your  pen : 

But  ah ! that  satire  is  a dang’rous  thing. 

And  often  wounds  the  writer  with  its  sting ; 

Your  infant  muse  should  sport  with  other  toys, 
Men  will  not  bear  the  ridicule  of  boys. 

Some  of  the  aldermen,  (for  some,  indeed. 

For  want  of  education  cannot  read  ; 

And  those  who  can,  when  they  aloud  rehearse 
What  Colhns,  happy  genius  ! titles  verse. 

So  spin  the  strains  sonorous  through  the  nose, 
The  hearer  cannot  call  it  verse  or  prose,) 

Some  of  the  aldermen  may  take  offence 
At  your  maintaining  them  devoid  of  sense  ; 

And  if  you  touch  their  aldermanic  pride. 

Bid  dark  reflection  tell  how  Savage  died  ! 

Go  to  * * * * and  copy  worthy  * * * ^ 

All ! what  a sharp  experienced  genius  that : 

Well  he  prepares  his  bottle  and  his  jest. 

An  alderman  is  no  unwelcome  guest ; 

Adult’rate  talents  and  adult’rate  wine 
May  make  another  drawling  rascal  shine  ; 


58 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


His  known  integrity  outvies  a court, 

His  the  dull  tale,  original  the  port : 

Whilst  loud  he  entertains  the  sleepy  cits, 

And  rates  his  wine  according  to  his  wits, 

Should  a trite  pun  by  happy  error  please. 

His  worship  thunders  at  the  laughing  Mease ; ^ 
Auid  Mease  inserts  this  item  in  his  bill, 

Five  shillings  for  a jest  with  ev’ry  gill. 

How  commendable  this  to  turn  at  once 
To  good  account  the  vintner  and  the  dunce. 

And,  by  a very  hocus-pocus  hit. 

Dispose  of  damaged  claret  and  bad  wit. 

Search  through  the  ragged  tribe  who  drink  small 
beer. 

And  sweetly  echo  in  his  worship’s  ear, 

What  are  the  wages  of  the  tuneful  nine, — 

What  are  their  pleasures  when  compared  to 
mine  ? 

Happy  I eat,  and  tell  my  num’rous  pence. 

Free  from  the  servitude  of  rhyme  or  sense : 
Though  sing-song  Whitehead  ushers  in  the  year 
With  joy  to  Briton’s  king  and  sovereign  dear. 
And,  in  compliance  to  an  ancient  mode, 

Measures  his  syllables  into  an  ode  ; 

Yet  such  the  sorry  merit  of  his  muse. 

He  bows  to  deans  and  licks  his  lordship’s 
shoes. 

1 Matthew  Mease,  vintner.  He  kept  the  Bush,  and  was 
Bucceeded  by  John  Weeks,  who  married  his  sister.  Mease’s 
father  kept  the  Nag’s  Head,  in  Wine  Street. — Chatterton 


I 


KEW  GARDENS. 


G9 


riien  leave  the  wicked,  barren  way  of  rhyme, 

Fly  far  from  poverty — be  wise  in  time — 

Regard  the  office  more — Parnassus  less — 

Put  your  religion  in  a decent  dress  ; 

Then  may  your  interest  in  the  town  advance, 
Above  the  reach  of  muses  or  romance. 

Besides,  the  town  (a  sober,  honest  town. 

Which  smiles  on  virtue,  and  gives  vice  a frown) 
Bids  censure  brand  with  infamy  her  name, 

I,  even  I,  must  think  you  are  to  blame. 

Is  there  a street  within  this  spacious  place 
That  boasts  the  happiness  of  one  fair  face. 

Where  conversation  does  not  turn  on  you. 
Blaming  your  wild  amours,  your  morals  too. 
Oaths,  sacred  and  tremendous  oaths  ? You  swear 
Oaths  which  might  shock  a LuttrelFs  soul  to  hear; 
These  very  oaths,  as  if  a thing  of  joke. 

Made  to  betray,  intended  to  be  broke  ; 

Whilst  the  too  tender  and  believing  maid, 
(Remember  pretty  * * * * ) is  betray’d ; 

Then  your  religion — ah,  beware  ! beware  ! 
Although  a deist  is  no  monster  here  ; 

Yet  hide  your  tenets — priests  are  powerful  foes, 
^And  priesthood  fetters  justice  by  the  nose  : ) 
Think  not  the  merit  of  a jingling  song  ^ 

Can  countenance  the  author’s  acting  wrong ; 
Reform  your  manners,  and  with  solemn  air 
Hear  Catcott  pray,  and  Robins  squeak  in  prayer. 
Robins,  a reverend,  cully-mully  puff. 

Who  thinks  all  sermons,  but  his  own,  are  stuff ; 


70 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


When  harping  on  the  dull,  unmeaning  text, 

By  disquisitions  he ’s  so  sore  perplex’d, 

He  stammers,  instantaneously  is  drawn 
A border’d  piece  of  inspiration  lawn, 

Which  being  thrice  unto  his  nose  applied, 

Into  his  pineal  gland  the  vapours  glide  ; 

And  now  we  hear  the  jingling  doctor  roar, 

On  subjects  he  dissected  thrice  before. 

Honour  the  scarlet  robe,  and  let  the  quill 
Be  silent  when  old  Isaac  eats  his  fill. 

Regard  thy  interests,  ever  love  thyself. 

Rise  into  notice  as  you  rise  in  pelf ; 

The  muses  have  no  credit  here,  and  fame 
Confines  itself  to  the  mercantile  name. 

Then  clip  imagination’s  wing,  be  wise. 

And  great  in  wealth,  to  real  greatness  rise ; 

Or  if  you  must  persist  to  sing  and  dream. 

Let  only  panegyric  be  your  theme  ; 

With  pulpit  adulation  tickle  Cutts,^ 

And  wreathe  with  ivy.  Garden’s  tavern  butts  ; 
Find  sentiment  in  Dampier’s  empty  look, 

Genius  in  Collins,  harmony  in  Rooke  ; 

Swear  Broderip’s  horrid  noise  the  tuneful  spheres, 
And  rescue  Pindar  from  the  songs  of  Shears. 
Would  you  still  further  raise  the  fairy  ground. 
Praise  Broughton, — for  his  eloquence  profound, 
His  generosity,  and  his  sentiment. 

His  active  fancy,  and  his  thoughts  on  Lent  : 


1 Dr.  Cutts  Barton,  Dean  of  Bristol. 


THE  ADVICE. 


71 


Make  I^orth  or  Chatham  canonize  his  Grace, 

And  beg  a pension,  or  procure  a place. 

Damn’d  narrow  notions ! notions  which  dis- 
grace 

The  boasted  reason  of  the  human  race  : 

Bristol  may  keep  her  prudent  maxims  still, 

I scorn  her  prudence,  and  I ever  will : 

Since  all  my  vices  magnified  are  here. 

She  cannot  paint  me  worse  than  I appear ; 

When  raving  in  the  lunacy  of  ink, 

I catch  my  pen,  and  publish  what  I think.^ 


THE  ADVICE. 

ADDRESSED  TO  MISS  M R , OP  BRISTOL. 

Revolving  in  their  destin’d  sphere, 

The  hours  begin  another  year 
As  rapidly  to  fly  ; 

Ah ! think,  Maria,  (e’er  in  gray 
Those  auburn  tresses  fade  away ; ) 

So  youth  and  beauty  die. 


1 Some  of  the  lines  in  this  poem  appear  also,  with  some 
•light  alterations,  in  the  “ Whore  of  Babylon.’* 


n 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Tho’  now  the  captivated  throng 
Adore  with  flattery  and  song, 

And  all  before  you  bow : 

Whilst  unattentive  to  the  strain, 

You  hear  the  humble  muse  complain. 

Or  wreathe  your  frowning  brow. 

Tho’  poor  Pitholeon’s  feeble  line. 

In  opposition  to  the  nine. 

Still  violates  your  name  : 

Tho’  tales  of  passion  meanly  told. 

As  dull  as  Cumberland,  as  cold. 

Strive  to  confess  a flame. 

Yet,  when  that  bloom  and  dancing  fire, 

In  silver’d  rev’rence  shall  expire. 

Aged,  wrinkled,  and  defaced : 

To  keep  one  lover’s  flame  alive, 

Requires  the  genius  of  a Clive, 

With  Walpole’s  mental  taste.^ 

Tho’  rapture  wantons  in  your  air, 

Tho’  beyond  simile  you’re  fair, 

Free,  affable,  serene : 

Yet  still  one  attribute  divine 
Should  in  your  composition  shine — 
Sincerity,  I mean. 

1 This  stanza  has  been  brought  forward  by  the  friends  of 
Walpole,  as  a proof  that  Chatterton  altered  his  opinion  with 
respect  to  Walpole’s  treatment  of  him.  Most  probably  it 
only  satire  in  disguise. — Dix’s  Life  of  Chatterton. 


THE  ADVICE. 


73 


Tho’  num’rous  swains  before  you  fall, 
'Tis  empty  admiration  all, 

’Tis  all  that  you  require  : 

How  momentary  are  their  chains ! 

Like  you,  how  unsincere  the  strains 
Of  those  who  but  admire  1 

Accept,  for  once,  advice  from  me, 

And  let  the  eye  of  censure  see 
Maria  can  be  true  : 

No  more  for  fools  or  empty  beaux, 
Heav’n’s  representatives  disclose, 

Or  butterflies  pursue. 

Fly  to  your  worthiest  lover’s  arms, 

To  him  resign  your  swelling  charms. 

And  meet  his  gen’rous  breast : 
Or  if  Pitholeon  suits  your  taste, 

His  muse  with  tatter’d  fragments  graced, 
Shall  read  your  cares  to  rest. 


THE  COPERNICAN  SYSTEM. 


The  sun  revolving  on  his  axis  turns, 

And  with  creative  fire  intensely  burns ; 

Impeird  the  forcive  air,  our  earth  supreme 
Rolls  with  the  planets  round  the  solar  gleam. 
First  Mercury  completes  his  transient  year. 
Glowing,  refulgent,  with  reflected  glare  ; 

Bright  Venus  occupies  a wider  way. 

The  early  harbinger  of  night  and  day ; 

More  distant  still  our  globe  terraqueous  turns, 
Nor  chills  intense,  nor  fiercely  heated  burns ; 
Around  her  rolls  the  lunar  orb  of  light. 

Trailing  her  silver  glories  through  the  night 
On  the  earth’s  orbit  see  the  various  signs, 

Mark  where  the  sun,  our  year  completing,  shines 
First  the  bright  Ram  his  languid  ray  improves  : 
Next  glaring  wat’ry  thro’  the  Bull  he  moves ; 
The  am’rous  Twins  admit  his  genial  ray ; 

Now  burning,  thro’  the  Crab  he  takes  his  way ; 
The  Lion  flaming,  bears  the  solar  power ; 

The  Virgin  faints  beneath  the  sultry  shower. 

Now  the  just  Balance  weighs  his  equal  force, 
The  shmy  Serpent  swelters  in  his  course ; 


THE  COPERNICAN  SYSTEM. 


75 


The  sabled  Archer  clouds  his  languid  face : 

The  Goat,  with  tempests,  urges  on  his  race ; 

Now  in  the  water  his  faint  beams  appear. 

And  the  cold  Fishes  end  the  circling  year. 

Beyond  our  globe  the  sanguine  Mars  displays 
. strong  reflection  of  primeval  rays  ; 

T^ext  belted  Jupiter  far  distant  gleams. 

Scarcely  enlighten’d  with  the  solar  beams  : 

With  four  unfix’d  receptacles  of  light. 

He  tow’rs  majestic  thro’  the  spacious  height : 

But  further  yet  the  tardy  Saturn  lags, 

And  five  attendant  luminaries  drags ; 

Investing  with  a double  ring  his  pace, 

He  circles  through  immensity  of  space. 

These  are  thy  wondrous  works,  first  Source  of 
good ! 

Now  more  admir’d  in  being  understood.* 

1 Mr,  Corser,  of  Totterdown,  has  favored  me  with  the  fol- 
lowing anecdote  of  Chatterton. — Mr.  G.  was  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  him,  and  well  remembers  that  he  once  met  him 
on  a Sunday  morning,  at  the  gate  of  Temple  church,  when 
the  bells  were  chiming  for  service.  There  being  yet  some 
time  to  spare  before  the  prayers  commenced,  Chatterton  pro- 
posed their  taking  a walk  together,  in  the  churchyard,  which 
was  then  open  to  the  public,  and  laid  out  like  a garden. 
“ Come,”  said  he,  “I  want  to  read  to  you  something  I have 
just  written;  ” and  when  arrived  at  a secluded  spot,  he  read 
to  Mr.  Corser  a treatise  on  astronomy,  and  stated  that  he  had 
not  yet  finished  it,  but  that  he  intended  to  make  it  the  sub- 
ject of  a poem.  Not  long  afterwards  there  appeared  the 
above  poem  in  the  Town  and  Country  Magazine. — Dtx’s 
^ of  Chatterton, 


THE  CONSULIAD.* 


AN  HEROIC  POEM. 

Of  warring  senators,  and  battles  dire, 

Of  quails  uneaten,  Muse,  awake  the  lyre, 

Where  Campbeirs  chimneys  overlook  the  square* 
And  Newton's  future  prospects  hang  in  air  ; 
Where  counsellors  dispute,  and  cockers  match. 
And  Caledonian  earls  in  concert  scratch  ; 

A group  of  heroes  occupied  the  round. 

Long  in  the  rolls  of  infamy  renown’d. 

Circling  the  table  all  in  silence  sat. 

Now  tearing  bloody  lean,  now  champing  fat ; 
Now  picking  ortolans,  and  chicken  slain. 

To  form  the  whimsies  of  an  a-la-reine: 

Now  storming  castles  of  the  newest  taste. 

And  granting  articles  to  forts  of  paste  ; 

1 The  Consuliad,  a political  piece,  written  at  Bristol,  is  in 
the  highest  strain  of  party  scurrility. — Dr.  Gregory. 

The  first  draft  of  this  poem  is  preserved  in  the  British 
Museum.  It  is  there  called  the  “ Constabiliad,’^  and  com- 
mences— 

**  Of  roaring  constables,  and  battles  dire, 

**  Of  geese  uneaten,”  &c. 

There  are  frequent  variations  from  the  printed  copy  through 
t»ut  the  whole  of  the  poem. 


THE  CONSULIAD. 


77 


Now  swallowing  bitter  draughts  of  Prussian  beer ; 
Now  sucking  tallow  of  salubrious  deer. 

The  god  of  cabinets  and  senates  saw 
His  sons,  like  asses,  to  one  centre  draw. 

Inflated  Discord  heard,  and  left  her  cell. 

With  all  the  horrors  of  her  native  hell ; 

She  on  the  soaring  wings  of  genius  fled. 

And  waved  the  pen  of  Junius  round  her  head. 
Beneath  the  table,  veil’d  from  sight,  she  sprung. 
And  sat  astride  on  noisy  Twitcher’s  tongue  : 
Twitcher,  superior  to  the  venal  pack 
Of  Bloomsbury’s  notorious  monarch.  Jack ; 
Twitcher,  a rotten  branch  of  mighty  stock. 

Whose  interest  winds  his  conscience  as  his  clock  ; 
Whose  attributes  detestable  have  long 
Been  evident,  and  infamous  in  song. 

A toast ’s  demanded  ! Madoc  swift  arose, 
Pactolian  gravy  trickling  down  his  clothes  : 

His  sanguine  fork  a murder’d  pigeon  prest. 

His  knife  with  deep  incision  sought  the  breast. 
Upon  his  lips  the  quivering  accents  hung, 

And  too  much  expedition  chain’d  his  tongue. 
When  thus  he  sputter’d : “ All  the  glasses  fill, 
And  toast  the  great  Pendragon  of  the  hill : 
Mab-Uther  Owein,  a long  train  of  kings, 

From  whom  the  royal  blood  of  Madoc  springs. 
IMadoc,  undoubtedly  of  Arthur’s  race, 

Y ou  see  the  mighty  monarch  in  his  face  ; 


78 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Madoc,  in  bagnios  and  in  courts  adored, 

Demands  this  proper  homage  of  the  board.” 

“ Monarchs ! ” said  Twitcher,  setting  down  his  beer 
His  muscles  wreathing  a contemptuous  sneer ; 

“ Monarchs  ! Of  molehills,  oyster-beds,  a rock — 
These  are  the  grafters  of  your  royal  stock : 

My  pony  Scrub  can  sires  more  valiant  trace — ” 
The  mangled  pigeon  thunders  on  his  face ; 

His  opening  mouth  the  melted  butter  fills. 

And  dropping  from  his  nose  and  chin  distils. 
Furious  he  started,  rage  his  bosom  warms ; 

Loud  as  his  lordship’s  morning  dun  he  storms. 

“ Thou  vulgar  imitator  of  the  great. 

Grown  wanton  with  the  excrements  of  state  ; 
This  to  thy  head  notorious  Twitcher  sends.” 

His  shadow  body  to  the  table  bends : 

His  straining  arm  uprears  a loin  of  veal. 

In  these  degenerate  days,  for  three  a meal ; 

In  ancient  times,  as  various  writers  say. 

An  alderman  or  priest  eat  three  a day. 

With  godlike  strength  the  grinning  Twitcher 
plies 

His  stretching  muscles  and  the  mountain  flies. 
Swift  as  a cloud  that  shadows  o’er  the  plain, 

It  flew,  and  scatter’d  drops  of  oily  rain. 

In  opposition  to  extended  knives. 

On  royal  Madoc’s  spreading  chest  it  drives ; 
Senseless  he  falls  upon  the  sandy  ground. 


THE  CONSULIAD. 


79 


Prest  with  the  steamy  load  that  ooz’d  around. 
And  now  Confusion  spread  her  ghastly  plume, 
And  Faction  separates  the  noisy  room. 
Balluntun,  exercised  in  every  vice 
That  opens  to  a courtier’s  paradise, 

With  Dyson  trammel’d,  scruples  not  to  draw 
Injustice  up  the  rocky  hill  of  law  : 

From  whose  humanity  the  laurels  sprung, 

Which  will  in  George’s-Fields  be  ever  young. 
The  vile  Balluntun,  starting  from  his  chair. 

To  Fortune  thus  address’d  his  private  prayer : 

“ Goddess  of  Fate’s  rotundity,  assist 
With  thought-wing’d  victory  my  untried  fist : 

If  I the  grinning  Twitcher  overturn, 

Six  Russian  frigates  at  thy  shrine  shall  burn ; 
Nine  rioters  shall  bleed  beneath  thy  feet ; 

And  hanging  cutters  decorate  each  street.” 

The  goddess  smiled,  or  rather  smooth’d  her 
frown. 

And  shook  the  triple  feathers  of  her  crown  ; 
Instill’d  a private  pension  in  his  soul. 

With  rage  inspir’d,  he  seiz’d  a Gallic  roll  : 

His  bursting  arm  the  missive  weapon  threw, 
High  o’er  his  rival’s  head  it  whistling  flew ; 
Curraras,  for  his  Jewish  soul  renown’d. 

Receiv’d  it  on  his  ear,  and  kiss’d  the  ground. 
Curraras,  vers’d  in  every  little  art. 

To  play  the  minister’s  or  felon’s  part, 

Grown  hoary  in  the  villanies  of  state, 

A title  made  him  infamously  great ; 


80 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POE3IS. 


A slave  to  venal  slaves — a tool  to  tools, 

The  representative  to  knaves  and  fools. 

But  see  ! Commercial  Bristol’s  genius  sit, 

Her  shield  a turtle-shell,  her  lance  a spit  : 

See,  whilst  her  nodding  aldermen  are  spread. 

In  all  the  branching  honours  of  the  head  ; 
Curraras,  ever  faithful  to  the  cause, 

With  beef  and  ven’son  their  attention  draws: 
They  drink,  they  eat,  then  sign  the  mean  address 
Say,  could  their  humble  gratitude  do  less  ? 

By  disappointment  vex’d,  Balluntun  flies. 

Red  lightnings  flashing  in  his  dancing  eyes. 
Firm  as  his  virtue,  mighty  Twitcher  stands, 
And  elevates  for  furious  fight  his  hands  : 

One  pointed  fist,  his  shadow’d  corpse  defends, 
The  other  on  Balluntun’s  eyes  descends : 

A darkling,  shaking  light  his  optics  view. 
Circled  with  livid  tinges  red  and  blue. 

Now  fir’d  with  anguish  and  inflam’d  by  pride, 
He  thunders  on  his  adversary’s  side  : 

With  patt’ring  blows  prolongs  th’  unequal  fight ; 
Twitcher  retreats  before  the  man  of  might. 

But  Fortune,  (or  some  higher  Power,  or  God) 
Oblique  extended  forth  a sable  rod : 

As  Twitcher  retrograde  maintain’d  the  fray. 

The  harden’d  serpent  intercepts  his  way : 

He  fell,  and  falling  with  a lordly  air. 

Crush’d  into  atoms  the  judicial  chair.  ^ 
Curraras,  for  his  Jewish  soul  renown’d. 

Arose : but  deafen’d  with  a singing  sound. 


THE  CONSULIAD. 


81 


A.  cloud  of  discontent  overspread  his  brows  ; 
Revenge  in  every  bloody  feature  glows. 

Around  his  head  a roasted  gander  whirls, 
Dropping  Manilla  sauces  on  his  curls, 

Swift  to  the  vile  Ballun tun’s  face  it  flics. 

The  burning  pepper  sparkles  in  his  eyes : 

11  is  India  waistcoat  reeking  with  the  oil. 

Glows  brighter  red,  the  glory  of  the  spoil. 

The  fight  is  general ; fowl  repulses  fowl ; 

The  victors  thunder,  and  the  vanquish’d  howl. 
Stars,  garters,  all  the  implements  of  show. 

That  deck’d  the  pow’rs  above,  disgrac’d  below. 
Nor  swords,  nor  mightier  weapons  did  they  draw, 
For  all  were  well  acquainted  with  the  law. 

Let  Drap — r to  improve  his  diction  fight ; 

Our  heroes,  like  Lord  George,  could  scold  and 
write. 

Gogmagog  early  of  the  jocky  club  ; 

Empty  as  C — hr — ke’s  oratorial  tub  : 

A rusty  link  of  ministerial  chain, 

A living  glory  of  the  present  reign. 

Vers’d  in  the  arts  of  ammunition  bread. 

He  wav’d  a red  wheat  manchet  round  his  head : 
David-ap-Howel,  furious,  wild,  and  young. 

From  the  same  line  as  royal  Madoc  sprung, 
Occur’d,  the  object  of  his  bursting  ire. 

And  on  his  nose  receiv’d  the  weapon  dire : 

A double  river  of  congealing  blood, 

O’erflows  his  garter  with  a purple  flood. 

"V  OL.  I.  6 


82 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Mad  as  a bull  by  daring  mastiffs  tore^ 

When  ladies  scream  and  greasy  butchers  roar ; 
Mad  as  B — rg — e when  groping  through  the 
park, 

He  kiss’d  his  own  dear  lady  in  the  dark  ; 

The  lineal  representative  of  kings, 

A carving  weapon  seiz’d  and  up  he  springs  : 

A weapon  long  in  cruel  murders  stain’d. 

For  mangling  captive  carcases  ordain’d. 

But  Fortune,  Providence,  or  what  you  will, 

To  lay  the  rising  scenes  of  horror  still ; 

In  Fero’s  person  seiz’d  a shining  pot. 

Where  bubbled  scrips,  and  contracts  flaming  hot: 
In  the  fierce  Cambrian’s  breeches  drains  it  dry, 
The  chapel  totters  with  the  shrieking  cry, 

Loud  as  the  mob’s  reiterated  yell. 

When  Sawny  rose,  and  mighty  Chatham  fell. 

Flaccus  the  glory  of  a masquerade  ; 

Whose  every  action  is  of  trifles  made : 

At  Grafton’s  well-stor’d  table  ever  found ; 

Like  Grafton  too  for  every  vice  renown’d. 
Grafton,  to  whose  immortal  sense  we  owe. 

The  blood  which  will  from  civil  discord  flow : 
Who  swells  each  grievance,  lengthens  every  tax, 
Blind  to  the  rip’ning  vengeance  of  the  axe. 
Flaccus,  the  youthful,  degag^e  and  gay, 

With  eye  of  pity,  saw  the  dreary  fray : 

Amidst  the  greasy  horrors  of  the  fight. 

He  tn'.mbled  for  his  suit  of  virgin  white. 


THE  CONSULIAD. 


83 


Fond  of  his  eloquence,  and  easy  ilow 

Of  talk  verbose  whose  meaning  none  can  know  : 

He  mounts  the  table,  but  thro’  eager  haste. 

His  foot  upon  a smoking  court-pie  plac’d : 

The  burning  liquid  penetrates  his  shoe. 

Swift  from  the  rostrum  the  declaimer  flew. 

But  learnedly  heroic  he  disdains 

To  spoil  his  pretty  countenance  with  strains. 

Bemounted  on  the  table,  now  he  stands, 

Waves  his  high  powder’d-head  and  ruffled  hands. 

Friends  ! Let  this  clang  of  hostile  fury  cease, 
111  it  becomes  the  plenipos  of  peace  : 

Shall  olios,  for  internal  battle  drest. 

Like  bullets  outward  perforate  the  breast ; 

Shall  jav’lin  bottles  blood  ethereal  spill ; 

Shall  luscious  turtle  without  surfeit  kill  ? ” 

More  had  he  said  : when  from  Doglostock  flung, 
A custard  pudding  trembled  on  his  tongue  : 

And,  ah  ! misfortunes  seldom  come  alone, 

Great  Twitcher  rising  seiz’d  a polish’d  bone  ; 
Upon  his  breast  the  oily  weapon  clangs ; 
Headlong  he  falls,  propell’d  by  thick’ning  bangs. 
The  prince  of  trimmers,  for  his  magic  fam’d, 
Quarlendorgongos  by  infernals  nam’d  : 

By  mortals  Alavat  in  common  styl’d ; 

Nurs’d  in  a furnace,  Nox  and  Neptune’s  child : 
Bursting  with  rage,  a weighty  bottle  caught. 

With  crimson  blood  and  weighty  spirits  fraught ; 
To  Doxo’s  head  the  gurgling  woe  he  sends, 

Doxo  made  mighty  in  his  mighty  friends. 


B4 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Upon  his  front  the  stubborn  vessel  sounds, 

Back  from  his  harder  front  the  bottle  bounds : 

He  fell.  The  royal  Madoc  rising  up, 

Repos’d  him  weary  on  his  painful  crup : 

The  head  of  Doxo,  first  projecting  down. 
Thunders  upon  the  kingly  Cambrian’s  crown : 
The  sanguine  tumour  swells  ; again  he  falls  ; 

On  his  broad  chest  the  bulky  Doxo  sprawls. 

Tyro  the  sage,  the  sensible,  the  strong. 

As  yet  unnotic’d  in  the  muse-taught  song. 

Tyro,  for  necromancy  far  renown’d, 

A greater  adept  than  Agrippa  found  ; 

Oft  as  his  phantom  reasons  interven’d, 

De  Viris  pension’d,  the  defaulter  screen’d ; 
Another  C — rt — t remains  in  Cl — ; 

In  FI — the — r fifty  Jefferies  appear ; 

Tyro  stood  neuter,  till  the  champions  tir’d. 

In  languid  attitudes  a truce  desir’d. 

Long  was  the  bloody  fight ; confusion  dire 
Has  hid  some  circumstances  from  the  lyre ; 
Suffice  it,  that  each  hero  kiss’d  the  ground, 

Tyro  excepted  for  old  laws  renown’d ; 

Who  stretching  his  authoritative  hand. 

Loudly  thus  issu’d  forth  his  dread  command. 

^ Peace,  wrangling  senators,  and  placemen,  peace, 
In  the  King’s  name,  let  hostile  vengeance  cease ! ” 
Aghast  the  champions  hear  the  furious  sound, 

The  fallen  unmolested  leave  the  ground. 

“ What  fury,  nobles,  occupies  your  breast  ? 

What,  patriot  spirits,  has  your  minds  possest  ? 


THE  CONSULIAD. 


8o 


Nor  honorary  gifts,  nor  pensions,  please. 

Say,  are  you  Co  vent- Garden  patentees  ! 

How  ? wist  you  not  what  ancient  sages  said. 
The  council  quarrels,  and  the  poor  have  bread. 
See  this  court-pie  with  twenty  thousand  drest ; 
Be  every  thought  of  enmity  at  rest : 

Divide  it  and  be  friends  again,”  he  said  : 

The  council  god  return’d ; and  Discord  fled.^ 


1 Growing  up  separate  and  alien,  in  a great  degree,  from 
the  social  interests  and  sentiments  which  bind  men  together, 
Chatterton  was  habitually  ready  and  watchful  for  occasions 
to  practise  on  their  weakness  and  folly,  and  to  indulge  a pro- 
pensity to  annoyance  by  satire.  He  would  play  off  the  witty 
malice,  no  matter  who  was  the  object.  He  was  a very  Ish- 
mael  with  this  weapon.  It  is  somewhere  his  own  confession, 
that,  when  the  mood  was  on  him,  he  spared  neither  foe  nor 
friend.  Very  greatly  amusing  as  it  may  well  be  believed 
that  his  company  was,  when  he  chose  to  give  it,  nobody  was 
safe  against  having  his  name,  with  his  peculiarities,  his  hobby, 
his  vanity,  hitched  into  some  sarcastic  stanza. — Eclectic 
Bbvibw. 


ELEGY. 


Joyless  I seek  the  solitary  shade, 

Where  dusky  contemplation  veils  the  scene, 

The  dark  retreat  (of  leafless  branches  made) 
Where  sickening  sorrow  wets  the  yellow’d  green 

The  darksome  ruins  of  some  sacred  cell, 

Where  erst  the  sons  of  Superstition  trod, 

Tott’ring  upon  the  mossy  meado  w,  tell 
We  better  know,  but  less  adore  our  God. 

Now,  as  I mournful  tread  the  gloomy  cave. 

Thro’  the  wide  window  (once  with  mysteries 
dight) 

The  distant  forest,  and  the  darken’d  wave 
Of  the  swoln  Avon  ravishes  my  sight. 

But  see,  the  thick’ning  veil  of  evening’s  drawn. 
The  azure  changes  to  a sable  blue ; 

The  rapt’ring  prospects  fly  the  less’ning  lawn. 
And  Nature  seems  to  mourn  the  dying  view. 


THE  morn  EC  Y. 


87 


Self-spriglited  Feai*  creeps  silent  thro’  the  gloom, 
Starts  at  the  rust’ling  leaf,  and  rolls  his  eyes ; 

Aghast  with  horror,  when  he  views  the  tomb, 
With  every  torment  of  a hell  he  flies. 

The  bubbling  brooks  in  plaintive  murmurs  roll, 
The  bird  of  omen,  with  incessant  scream. 

To  melancholy  thoughts  awakes  the  soul. 

And  lulls  the  mind  to  contemplation’s  dream. 

A dreary  stillness  broods  o’er  all  the  vale, 

The  clouded  moon  emits  a feeble  glare ; 

Joyless  I seek  the  darkling  hill  and  dale, 
Where’er  I wander  sorrow  still  is  there. 


THE  PROPHECY.’ 

“ When  times  are  at  the  worst  they  will  certainly  mend.*^ 


I. 

This  truth  of  old  was  Sorrow’s  friend. 
Times  at  the  worst  will  surely  mend  ; ” 


1 The  Prophecy  is  in  the  style  of  Swift’s  minor  pieces,  and 
appears  to  be  the  genuine  effusion  of  that  enthusiastic  love  of 
liberty,  which,  in  tumultuous  times,  generally  takes  posses- 
and  sanguine  dispositions. — Dr.  Gregory. 


88 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


The  difficulty ’s  then  to  know, 

How  long  Oppression’s  clock  can  go ; 
When  Britain’s  sons  may  cease  to  sigh. 
And  hope  that  their  redemption ’s  nigh. 


II. 

When  Vice  exalted  takes  the  lead, 

And  Vengeance  hangs  but  by  a thread ; 
Gay  peeresses  turn’d  out  o’  doors ; 
Whoremasters  peers,  and  sons  of  whores 
Look  up,  ye  Britains  ! cease  to  sigh, 

For  your  redemption  draweth  nigh. 

III. 

When  vile  Corruption’s  brazen  face. 

At  council-board  shall  take  her  place. 
And  lords-commissioners  resort. 

To  welcome  her  at  Britain’s  court ; 

Look  up,  ye  Britons!  cease  to  sigh. 

For  your  redemption  draweth  nigh. 


IV. 

See  Pension’s  harbour  large  and  clear, 
Defended  by  St.  Stephen’s  pier  I 
The  entrance  safe,  by  Current  led, 
Tiding  round  G — ’s  jetty  head ; 

Look  up,  ye  Britons ! cease  to  sigh. 
For  your  redemption  draweth  nigh. 


THE  PROPHECY. 


80 


V. 

When  Civil  Power  shall  snore  at  ease, 
While  soldiers  fire — to  keep  the  peace ; 
When  murders  sanctuary  find, 

And  petticoats  can  Justice  blind  ; 

Look  up,  ye  Britons ! cease  to  sigh, 

For  your  redemption  draweth  nigh. 


VI. 

Commerce  o’er  Bondage  will  prevail. 
Free  as  the  wind,  that  fills  her  sail. 
When  she  complains  of  vile  restraint. 
And  Power  is  deaf  to  her  complaint ; 
Look  up,  ye  Britons ! cease  to  sigh. 
For  your  redemption  draweth  nigh. 

VII. 

When  raw  projectors  shall  begin. 
Oppression’s  hedge  to  keep  her  in ; 
She  in  disdain  will  take  her  flight. 
And  bid  the  Gotham  fools  good-night ; 
Look  up,  ye  Britons ! cease  to  sigh, 
For  your  redemption  draweth  nigh. 

VIII. 

When  tax  is  laid,  to  save  debate, 

By  prudent  ministers  of  state ; 

And,  what  the  people  did  not  give, 

Is  levied  by  prerogative  ; 


90 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Look  up,  ye  Britons  ! cease  to  sigb, 
For  your  redemption  draweth  nigh. 

IX. 

When  Popish  bishops  dare  to  claim 
Authority,  in  George’s  name  ; 

By  Treason’s  hand  set  up,  in  spite 
Of  George’s  title,  William’s  right ; 
Look  up,  ye  Britons  ! cease  to  sigh, 
For  your  redemption  draweth  nigh. 


X. 

When  Popish  priest  a pension  draws 
From  starv’d  exchequer,  for  the  cause 
Commission’d,  proselytes  to  make 
In  British  realms,  for  Britain’s  sake ; 
Look  up,  ye  Britons  ! cease  to  sigh, 
For  your  redemption  draweth  nigh. 

XI. 

When  snug  in  power,  sly  recusants 
Make  laws  for  British  Protestants  ; 
And  d — g William’s  Revolution, 

As  justices  claim  execution  ; 

Look  up,  ye  Britons  ! cease  to  sigh, 
For  your  redemption  draweth  nigh. 

XII. 

When  soldiers,  paid  for  our  defence, 

In  wanton  pride  slay  innocence ; 


THE  PROPHECY. 


91 


Blood  from  the  ground  for  vengeance  reeks, 
Till  Heaven  the  inquisition  makes  ; 

Look  up,  ye  Britons  ! cease  to  sigh, 

For  your  redemption  draweth  nigh. 

XIII. 

When  at  Bute’s  feet  poor  Freedom  lies, 
Mark’d  by  the  priest  for  sacrifice, 

And  doom’d  a victim  for  the  sins 
Of  half  the  outs^  and  all  the  ins  / 

Look  up,  ye  Britons  ! cease  to  sigh. 

For  your  redemption  draweth  nigh. 

XIV. 

When  stewards  pass  a boot  account. 

And  credit  for  the  gross  amount ; 

Then  to  replace  exhausted  store. 

Mortgage  the  land  to  borrow  more  ; 

Look  up,  ye  Britons  ! cease  to  sigh. 

For  your  redemption  draweth  nigh. 

XV. 

When  scrutineers  for  private  ends. 

Against  the  vote  declare  their  friends  ; 

Or  judge  as  you  stand  there  alive. 

That  five  is  more  than  forty-five ; 

Look  up,  ye  Britons  ! cease  to  sigh. 

For  your  redemption  draweth  nigh. 

XVI. 

When  George  shall  condescend  to  hear 
The  modest  suit,  the  humble  prayer ; 


^2 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


A Prince,  to  purpled  pride  unknown ! 

No  favourites  disgrace  the  throne ! 

Look  up,  je  Britons ! sigh  no  more, 

For  your  redemption ’s  at  the  door. 

XVII. 

When  time  shall  bring  your  wish  about, 
Or,  seven-years  lease,  you  sold^  is  out. 

No  future  contract  to  fulfil. 

Your  tenants  holding  at  your  will ; 

Raise  up  your  heads ! your  right  demand  I 
For  your  redemption’s  in  your  hand. 

XVIII. 

Then  is  your  time  to  strike  the  blow. 

And  let  the  slaves  of  Mammon  know, 
Briton’s  true  sons  a bribe  can  scorn, 

And  die  2^%  free  as  they  were  born. 
Virtue  again  shall  take  her  seat, 

And  your  redemption  stand  complete. 


A SONG. 

addressed  to  miss  C — AM,  OF  BRISTOL. 

As  Spring  now  approaches  with  all  his  gay  train, 
And  scatters  his  beauties  around  the  green  plain, 


A SONG. 


93 


Come  then,  mj  dear  charmer,  all  scruples  remove, 
Accept  of  my  passion,  allow  me  to  love. 

Without  the  soft  transports  which  love  must 
inspire. 

Without  the  sweet  torment  of  fear  and  desire. 
Our  thoughts  and  ideas  are  never  refined, 

Ani  nothing  but  winter  can  reign  in  the  mind. 

But  love  is  the  blossom,  the  spring  of  the  soul. 
The  frosts  of  our  judgments  may  check,  not 
control ; 

In  spite  of  each  hindrance,  the  spring  will  return, 
And  nature  with  transports  refining  will  burn. 

This  passion  celestial,  by  Heav’n  was  design’d. 
The  only  fix’d  means  of  improving  the  mind. 
When  it  beams  on  the  senses,  they  quickly  display, 
How  great  and  prolific,  how  pleasing  the  ray. 

Then  come,  my  dear  charmer,  since  love  is  a flame, 
Which  polishes  nature,  and  angels  your  frame, 
Permit  the  soft  passion  to  rise  in  your  breast, — 

I leave  your  good-nature  to  grant  me  the  rest. 

Shall  the  beautiful  flow’rets  all  blossom  around. 
Shall  Flora’s  gay  mantle  enamel  the  ground. 

Shall  the  red  blushing  blossom  be  seen  on  the 
tree, 

W'ithout  the  least  pleasure  or  rapture  for  me? 


i)4  ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 

And  yet,  if  my  charmer  should  frown  when  I sing. 
Ah  ! what  are  the  beauties,  the  glories  of  spring ! 
The  flowers  will  be  faded,  all  happiness  fly, 

And  clouds  veil  the  azure  of  every  bright  sky. 


TO  A FRIEND. 

March  6,  1768. 

Deab  Friend, 

I have  received  both  your  favours — The  Muse 
alone  must  tell  my  joy. 


O’erwhelm’d  with  pleasure  at  the  joyful  news, 
I strung  the  chorded  shell,  and  woke  the -Muse, 
Begin,  O Servant  of  the  Sacred  Nine ! 

And  echo  joy  through  ev’ry  nervous  line ; 

Bring  down  th’  ethereal  Choir  to  aid  the  Song ; 
Let  boundless  raptures  smoothly  glide  along. 

My  Baker ’s  well ! Oh  words  of  sweet  delight ! 
Now ! now ! my  Muse,  soar  up  th’  Olympic  height. 
What  wondrous  numbers  can  the  Goddess  find, 
To  paint  th’  extatic  raptures  of  my  mind  ? 

I leave  it  to  a Goddess  more  divine. 

The  beauteous  Hoyland  shall  employ  my  line. 


TO  THE  BEAUTEOUS  MISS  HOYLAND. 


Far  distant  from  Britannia’s  lofty  Isle, 

What  shall  I find  to  make  the  Genius  smile  ? 

The  bubbling  fountains  lose  the  power  to  please, 
The  rocky  cataracts,  the  shady  trees, 

The  juicy  fruitage  of  enchanting  hue. 

Whose  luscious  virtues  England  never  knew  : 
The  variegated  Daughters  of  the  Land, 

Whose  numbers  Flora  strews  with  bounteous  hand ; 
The  verdant  vesture  of  the  smiling  fields. 

All  the  rich  pleasures  Nature’s  storehouse  yields. 
Have  all  their  powers  to  wake  the  chorded  string ; 
But  still  they  ’re  subjects  that  the  Muse  can  sing. 
Hoyland,  more  beauteous  than  the  God  of  Day, 
Her  name  can  quicken  and  awake  the  lay  ; 

Rouse  the  soft  Muse  from  indolence  and  ease. 

To  live,  to  love,  and  rouse  her  powers  to  please. 
In  vain  would  Phoebus,  did  not  Hoyland  rise  : 
’Tis  her  bright  eyes  that  gilds  the  Eastern  skies  ; 
’Tis  she  alone  deprives  us  of  the  light ; 

And  when  she  slumbers,  then  indeed  ’tis  night. 

To  tell  the  sep’rate  beauties  of  her  face 
Would  stretch  Eternity’s  remotest  space. 

And  want  a more  than  man,  to  pen  the  line ; 

I rest — let  this  suffice,  dear  Hoyland ’s  all  divine. 


TO  MISS  HOYLAND.^ 


Sweet  are  thy  charming  smiles,  my  lovely  maid, 
Sweet  as  the  flow’rs  in  bloom  of  spring  array’d ; 
Those  charming  smiles  thy  beauteous  face  adorn, 
As  May’s  white  blossoms  gayly  deck  the  thorn. 
Then  why,  when  mild  good-nature  basking  lies 
’Midst  the  soft  radiance  of  thy  melting  eyes  ; 
When  my  fond  tongue  would  strive  thy  heart  to 
move, 

And  tune  its  tones  to  every  note  of  love ; 

Why  do  those  smiles  their  native  soil  disown. 

And  (chang’d  their  movements)  kill  me  in  a 
frown  ? 

Yet,  is  it  true,  or  is  it  dark  despair. 

That  fears  you  ’re  cruel  whilst  it  owns  you  fair  ? 
O speak,  dear  Hoyland  ! speak  my  certain  fate. 
Thy  love  enrapt’ring,  or  thy  constant  hate. 

If  death’s  dire  sentence  hangs  upon  thy  tongue, 
E’en  death  were  better  than  suspense  so  long. 

* From  a MS.  of  Chatterton's,  in  the  British  Museum, 


ODE  TO  MISS  HOYLAND. 


Amidst  the  wild  and  dreary  dells, 

The  distant  echo-giving  bells, 

The  bending  mountain’s  head  ; 
Whilst  Evening,  moving  thro’  the  sky, 
Over  the  object  and  the  eye, 

Her  pitchy  robes  doth  spread  ; 

There,  gently  moving  thro’  the  vale, 
Bending  before  the  blust’ring  gale. 
Fell  apparitions  glide  ; 

Whilst  roaring  rivers  echo  round. 

The  drear  reverberating  sound 
Runs  through  the  mountain  side , 

Then  steal  I softly  to  the  grove. 

And  singing  of  the  nymph  I love. 

Sigh  out  my  sad  complaint ; 

To  paint  the  tortures  of  my  mind. 
Where  can  the  muses  numbers  find  ? 
Ah  ! numbers  are  too  faint. 

Ah ! Hoyland,  empress  of  my  heart. 
When  will  thy  breast  admit  the  dart, 
And  own  a mutual  flame  ? 

7 


VOL.  I. 


98 


ACICS^OWLEDGEi>  POEMS. 


When,  wand’ring  in  the  myrtle  groves, 
Shall  mutual  pleasures  seal  our  loves, 
Pleasures  without  a name  ? 

Thou  greatest  beauty  of  the  sex, 

When  will  the  httle  god  perplex 
The  mansions  of  thy  breast  ? 

When  wilt  thou  own  a flame  as  pure 
As  that  seraphic  souls  endure, 

And  make  thy  Baker  blest  ? 

O ! haste  to  give  my  passion  ease, 

And  bid  the  perturbation  cease 
That  harrows  up  my  soul ! 

The  joy  such  happiness  to  find. 

Would  make  the  functions  of  my  mind 
In  peace  and  love  to  roll. 


ACROSTIC  ON  MISS  HOYLAND. 

Enchanting  is  the  mighty  power  of  love  ; 

Life  stript  of  amorous  joys  would  irksome  prove : 
E’en  Heaven’s  great  Thund’rer  wore  th’  easy  chain. 
And  over  all  the  world.  Love  keeps  his  reign. 

No  human  heart  can  bear  the  piercing  blade, 

Or  I than  others,  am  more  tender  made. 

Right  thro’  my  heart  a burning  arrow  drove, 
Hoyland’s  briglit  eyes  were  made  the  bows  of  Love. 


TO  MISS  HOYLAND. 


99 


Oh  ! torture  inexpressibly  severe  ! 

You  are  the  pleasing  author  of  my  care. 

Look  down,  fair  angel,  on  a swain  distrest, 

A gracious  smile  from  you  would  make  me  blest. 
Nothing  but  that  blest  favour  stills  my  grief — 
Death,  that  denied,  will  quickly  give  relief 


TO  MISS  HOYLAND. 

Go,  gentle  Muse,  and  to  my  fair  one  say, 

My  ardent  passion  mocks  the  feeble  lay  ; 

That  love’s  pure  flame  my  panting  breast  inspires, 
And  friendship  warms  me  with  her  chaster  fires. 
Yes,  more  my  fond  esteem,  my  matchless  love. 
Than  the  soft  turtle’s  cooing  in  the  grove ; 

More  than  the  lark  delights  to  mount  the  sky, 
Then  sinking  on  the  greensward  soft  to  lie ; 

More  than  the  bird  of  eve,  at  close  of  dqy, 

To  pour  in  solemn  solitude  her  lay  ; 

More  than  grave  Camplin/  with  his  deep-toned  note, 
To  mouth  the  sacred  service  got  by  rote  ; 

More  than  sage  Catcott^  does  his  storm  of  rain. 
Sprung  from  th’  abyss  of  his  eccentric  brain. 

Or  than  his  wild-antique  and  sputt’ring  brother 
Loves  in  his  ale-house  chair  to  drink  and  pother ; 

1 John  Caraplin,  M.A.  Preceptor  of  Bristol. 

2 The  Rev.  Mr.  Catcott  wrote  a book  on  the  Deluge. 


100 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


More  than  soft  Lewis, ^ that  sweet  pretty  thing, 
Loves  in  the  pulpit  to  display  his  ring ; 

More  than  frail  mortals  love  a brother  sinner, 
And  more  than  Bristol  Aldermen  their  dinner, 
(When  full  four  pounds  of  the  well-fatten’d 
haunch 

In  twenty  mouthfuls  fill  the  greedy  paunch.) 

If  these  true  strains  can  thy  dear  bosom  move, 
Let  thy  soft  blushes  speak  a mutual  love  : 

But  if  thy  purpose  settles  in  disdain, 

Speak  my  dread  fate,  and  bless  thy  fav’rite  swain. 


ACROSTIC  ON  MISS  CLARKE. 

Seraphic  virgins  of  the  tuneful  choir, 

Assist  me  to  prepare  the  sounding  lyi*e  ! 

Like  her  I sing,  soft,  sensible,  and  fair ; 

Let  the  smooth  numbers  warble  in  the  air. 

Ye  prudes,  coquets,  and  all  the  misled  throng. 
Can  Beauty,  Virtue,  Sense,  demand  the  song  ? 
Look  then  on  Clarke,  and  see  them  all  unite : 

’ lilr.  Lewis  was  a dissenting  preacher  of  note,  then  in 
Bristol.  Chatterton  calls  him,  in  one  of  his  Letters  a pulpit 
fop.’» 


TO  MISS  HOYLAND. 


101 


A beauteous  pattern,  to  the  always-right. 

Rest  here,  my  muse,  nor  soar  above  thy  sphere — 
Kings  might  pay  adoration  to  the  fair. 
Enchanting,  full  of  joy,  peerless  in  face  and  air. 


TO  MISS  HOYLAND. 

Once  more  the  Muse  to  beauteous  Hoyland 
sings ; — 

Her  grateful  tribute  of  harsh  numbers  brings 
To  Hoyland  ! Nature’s  richest,  sweetest  store, 
She  made  an  Hoyland,  and  can  make  no  more. 
Nor  all  the  beauties  of  the  world’s  vast  round 
United,  will  as  sweet  as  her  be  found. 

Description  sickens  to  rehearse  her  praise — 

Her  worth  alone  will  deify  my  days. 

Enchanting  creature  ! Charms  so  great  as  thine 
May  all  the  beauties  of  the  day  outshine. 

Thy  eyes  to  every  gazer  send  a dart. 

Thy  taking  graces  captivate  the  heart. 

O for  a muse  that  shall  ascend  the  skies, 

And  like  the  subject  of  the  Epode  rise ; 

To  sing  the  sparkling  eye,  the  portly  grace. 

The  thousand  beauties  that  adorn  the  face 
Of  my  seraphic  maid,  whose  beauteous  charms 
Might  court  the  world  to  rush  at  once  to  arms  ; 


102 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Whilst  the  fair  Goddess,  native  of  the  skies, 

Shall  sit  above,  and  be  the  victor’s  prize. 

0 now,  whilst  yet  I sound  the  tuneful  lyre, 

1 feel  the  thrilling  joy  her  hands  inspire  ; 

When  the  soft  tender  touch  awakes  my  blood, 
And  rolls  my  passions  with  the  purple  flood. 

My  pulse  beats  high  my  throbbing  breast’s  on 

fire 

111  sad  variety  of  wild  desire. 

O Hoyland  ! heavenly  goddess  ! angel — saint ! 
Words  are  too  weak  thy  mighty  worth  to  paint ; 
Thou  best,  completest  work  that  nature  made. 
Thou  art  my  substance,  and  I am  thy  shade. 
Possess’d  of  thee,  I joyfully  would  go 
Thro’  the  loud  tempest,  and  the  depth  of  woe. 
From  thee  alone  my  being  I derive — 

One  beauteous  smile  from  thee  makes  all  my 
hopes  alive. 


TO  MISS  HOYLAND. 

Since  short  the  busy  scene  of  life  will  prove, 
Let  us,  my  Hoyland,  learn  to  live  and  love ; 
To  love  with  passions  pure  as  morning  light, 
Wliose  saffron  beams,  unsullied  by  the  night, 
With  rosy  mantles  do  the  heavens  streak, 
Faint  imitators  of  my  Hoyland’s  cheek. 


TO  MISS  HOYL.4lND. 


103 


The  joys  of  Nature  in  her  ruin’d  state 
Have  little  pleasure,  tho’  the  pains  are  great : 
Virtue  and  Love,  when  sacred  bands  unite, 

Tis  then  that  Nature  leads  to  true  delight. 

Oft  as  I wander  thro’  the  myrtle  grove. 
Bearing  the  beauteous  burden  of  my  love, 

A secret  terror,  lest  I should  offend 
The  charming  maid  on  whom  my  joys  depend, 
Informs  my  soul,  that  virtuous  minds  alone 
Can  give  a pleasure,  to  the  vile  unknown. 

But  when  the  body  charming,  and  the  mind. 
To  cv’ry  virtuous  Christian  act  inclined. 

Meet  in  one  person,  maid  and  angel  join. 

Who  must  it  be,  but  Hoyland  the  divine  ? 
What  worth  intrinsic  will  that  man  possess. 
Whom  the  dear  charmer  condescends  to  bless  ? 
Swift  will  the  minutes  roll,  the  flying  hours. 
And  blessings  overtake  the  pair  by  showers : 
Each  moment  will  improve  upon  the  past. 

And  every  day  be  better  than  the  last. 

Love  means  an  unadulterated  flame, 

Tho’  lust  too  oft  usurps  the  sacred  name  ; 

Such  passion  as  in  Hoy  land’s  breast  can  move, 
*Tis  that  alone  deserves  the  name  of  Love. 

Oh,  were  my  merit  great  enough  to  And 
A favour’d  station  in  my  Hoy  land’s  mind. 

Then  would  my  happiness  be  quite  complete, 
And  aU  revolving  joys  as  in  a centre  meet. 


TO  MISS  HOYLAND. 


Tell  me,  God  of  soft  desires, 
Little  Cupid,  wanton  Boy, 

How  thou  kindlest  up  thy  fires, 
Giving  pleasing  pain  and  joy  ? 

Hoyland’s  beauty  is  thy  bow. 
Striking  glances  are  thy  darts  : 

Making  conquests  never  slow. 
Ever  gaining  conquer’d  hearts. 

Heaven  is  seated  in  her  smile, 

Juno ’s  in  her  portly  air  ; 

Not  Britannia’s  fav’rite  Isle 
Can  produce  a nymph  so  fair. 

In  a desert  vast  and  drear. 

Where  disorder  springs  around, 

If  the  lovely  fair  is  there, 

’Tis  a pleasure-giving  ground. 

Oh  my  Hoyland  ! blest  with  thee, 
I’d  the  raging  storm  defy. 

In  thy  smiles  I live,  am  free  ; 
When  thou  frownest,  I must  die. 


TO  MISS  HOYLAND. 


WITH  A PRESENT. 

Accept,  fair  Nymph,  this  token  of  my  love, 
Nor  look  disdainful  on  the  prostrate  Swain ; 

By  ev’ry  sacred  oath,  Til  constant  prove. 

And  act  as  worthy  for  to  wear  your  chain. 

Not  with  more  constant  ardour  shall  the  sun 
Chase  the  faint  shadows  of  the  night  away ; 

Nor  shall  he  on  his  course  more  constant  run. 
And  cheer  the  universe  with  coming  day, 

Than  I in  pleasing  chains  of  conquest  bound. 
Adore  the  charming  author  of  my  smart ; — 

Forever  will  I thy  sweet  charms  resound, 

And  paint  the  fair  possessor  of  my  heart 


TO  MISS  HOYLAND. 


Count  all  the  flow’rs  that  deck  the  meadow’s  side, 
When  Flora  flourishes  in  new-born  pride ; 

Count  all  the  sparkling  orbits  in  the  sky ; 

Count  all  the  birds  that  thro’  the  ether  fly ; 

Count  all  the  foliage  of  the  lofty  trees, 

That  fly  before  the  bleak  autumnal  breeze ; 

Count  aU  the  dewy  blades  of  verdant  grass ; 
Count  all  the  drops  of  rain  that  softly  pass 
Thro’  the  blue  ether,  or  tempestuous  roar : 

Count  all  the  sands  upon  the  breaking  shore ; 
Count  all  tlie  minutes  since  the  world  began ; 
Count  all  the  troubles  of  the  life  of  man ; 

Count  all  the  torments  of  the  d d in  hell, — 

More  are  the  beauteous  charms  that  make  my 
nymph  excel.^ 

1 1 am  by  no  means  satisfied  that  all  these  poems  are  the 
production  of  Chatterton.  They  were  published  with  his 
name  in  the  Miscellanies,  and  at  this  distanqe  of  time  it  is 
impossible  to  distinguish  between  th(5m.  If  they  are  his, 
they  do  him  but  little  credit. 


TO  MISS  CLARKE. 


To  sing  of  Clarke  my  muse  aspires, 

A theme  by  charms  made  quite  divine : 

Ye  tuneful  Virgins  sound  your  lyres, 
Apollo  aid  the  feeble  line. 

If  truth  and  virtue,  wit  and  charms, 

May  for  a fix’d  attention  call, 

The  darts  of  Love  and  wounding  arms 
The  beauteous  Clarke  shall  hold  o’er  all. 

’Tis  not  the  tincture  of  the  skin. 

The  rosy  lip,  the  charming  eye  ; 

No,  ’tis  a greater  power  within. 

That  bids  the  passion  never  die. 

These  Clarke  possesses,  and  much  more— 
All  beauty  in  her  glances  sport ; 

She  is  the  goddess  all  adore. 

In  country,  city,  and  at  cour^ 


EPISTLE 


TO  THE  REVEREND  MR.  CATCOTT. 

December  6,  1769* 

What  strange  infatuations  rule  mankind ! 

How  narrow  are  our  prospects,  how  confined ! 
With  universal  vanity  possest, 

We  fondly  think  our  own  ideas  best ; 

Our  tott’ring  arguments  are  ever  strong  ; 

We  ’re  always  self-sufficient  in  the  wrong. 

What  philosophic  sage  of  pride  austere 
Can  lend  conviction  an  attentive  ear  ? 

What  pattern  of  humility  and  truth 
Can  bear  the  jeering  ridicule  of  youth  ? 

What  blushing  author  ever  rank’d  his  muse 
With  F owler’s  Poet-Laureate  of  the  Stews  ? 
Dull  Penny,  nodding  o’er  his  wooden  lyre, 
Conceits  the  vapours  of  Geneva  fire. 

All  in  the  language  of  Apostles  cry, 

If  angels  contradict  me,  angels  lie. 

As  all  have  intervals  of  ease  and  pain, 

So  all  have  intervals  of  being  vain: 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  REV.  MR.  CATCOTT.  109 

But  some  of  folly  never  shift  the  scene. 

Or  let  one  lucid  moment  intervene ; 

Dull  single  acts  of  many-footed  prose 
Their  tragi-comedies  of  life  compose ; 

Licessant  madding  for  a system  toy, 

The  greatest  of  Creation’s  blessings  cloy  ; 

Their  senses  dosing  a continual  dream, 

They  hang  enraptured  o’er  the  hideous  scheme : 
So  virgins  tott’ring  into  ripe  threescore. 

Their  greatest  hkeness  in  baboons  adore. 

When  you  advance  new  systems,  first  unfold 
The  various  imperfections  of  the  old ; 

Prove  Nature  hitherto  a gloomy  night. 

You  the  first  focus  of  primeval  light. 

’Tis  not  enough  you  think  your  system  true. 

The  busy  world  would  have  you  prove  it  too : 
Then,  rising  on  the  ruins  of  the  rest. 

Plainly  demonstrate  your  ideas  best. 

Many  are  best ; one  only  can  be  right, 

Tho’  all  had  inspiration  to  indite. 

Some  this  unwelcome  truth  perhaps  would  tell, 
Where  Clogher  stumbled,  Catcott  fairly  fell. 
Writers  on  rolls  of  science  long  renown’d. 

In  one  fell  page  are  tumbled  to  the  ground. 

We  see  their  systems  unconfuted  still ; 

But  Catcott  can  confute  them — if  he  will. 

Would  you  the  honour  of  a priest  mistrust, 

4n  excommunication  proves  him  just. 


110 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Could  Catcott  from  his  better  sense  be  drawn 
To  bow  the  knee  to  Baal's  sacred  lawn  ? 

A mitred  rascal  to  his  long-ear’d  flocks 
Gives  ill  example  * * * * 

Yet  we  must  reverence  sacerdotal  black, 

And  saddle  all  his  faults  on  Nature's  back ; 

But  hold,  there 's  solid  reason  to  revere — 

His  Lordship  has  six  thousand  pounds  a-year ; 

In  gaming  solitude  he  spends  the  nights. 

He  fasts  at  Arthur's,  and  he  prays  at  White's ; 
Rolls  o'er  the  pavement  with  his  Swiss-tailed  six 
At  White's  the  Athanasian  Creed  for  tricks  ; 
Whilst  the  poor  Curate  in  his  rusty  gown 
Trudges  unnoticed  thro'  the  dirty  town. 

If  God  made  order,  order  never  made 
These  nice  distinctions  in  the  preaching  trade. 
The  servants  of  the  devil  are  revered. 

And  bishops  pull  the  Fathers  by  the  beard. 

Yet  in  these  horrid  forms  Salvation  lives. 

These  are  Religion's  representatives  ; 

Yet  to  these  idols  must  we  bow  the  knee — 
Excuse  me,  Broughton,  when  I bow  to  thee. 

But  sure  Religion  can  produce  at  least. 

One  minister  of  God — one  honest  priest. 

Search  Nature  o'er,  procure  me,  if  you  can, 

The  fancied  character,  an  honest  man  ; 

(A  man  of  sense,  not  honest  by  constraint, 

For  fools  are  canvas,  living  but  in  paint.) 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  REV.  MR.  CA.TCOTT.  Ill 


To  Mammon  or  to  to  Superstition  slaves, 

All  orders  of  mankind  are  fools,  or  knaves  ; 

In  the  first  attribute  by  none  surpass’d, 

Taylor  endeavours  to  obtain  the  last. 

Imagination  may  be  too  confined ; 

Few  see  too  far ; how  many  are  half  blind  ! 

How  are  your  feeble  arguments  perplext 
To  find  out  meaning  in  a senseless  text ! 

You  rack  each  metaphor  upon  the  wheel. 

And  words  can  philosophic  truths  conceal. 

What  Paracelsus  humor’d  as  a jest. 

You  realize  to  prove  your  system  best. 

Might  we  not,  Catcott,  then  infer  from  hence. 
Your  zeal  for  Scripture  hath  devour’d  your  sense? 
Apply  the  glass  of  reason  to  your  sight. 

See  Nature  marshal  oozy  atoms  right ; 

Think  for  yourself,  for  all  mankind  are  free : 

We  need  not  inspiration  how  to  see. 

If  Scripture  contradictory  you  find, 

Be  orthodox,  ar^d  own  your  senses  blind. 

How  blinded  are  their  optics,  who  aver. 

What  inspiration  dictates  cannot  err. 

Whence  is  this  boasted  inspiration  sent. 

Which  makes  us  utter  truths  we  never  meant  ? 
Which  couches  systems  in  a single  word, 

^ t once  depraved,  abstruse,  sublime,  absurd. 

What  Moses  tells  us  might  perhaps  be  true, 

^Ls  he  was  team’d  in  all  the  Egyptians  knew. 


112 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


But  to  assert  that  Inspiration ’s  giv’n, 

The  copy  of  Philosophy  in  heav’n, 

Strikes  at  Religion’s  root,  and  fairly  fells 
The  awful  terrors  of  ten  thousand  hells. 

Attentive  search  the  Scriptures,  and  you  ’ll  find 
What  vulgar  errors  are  with  truths  combined. 
Your  tortured  truths,  which  Moses  seem’d  to  know 
He  could  not  unto  inspiration  owe  ; 

But  if  from  God  one  error  you  admit. 

How  dubious  is  the  rest  of  Holy  Writ ! 

What  knotty  difficulties  Fancy  solves ! 

The  heav’ns  irradiate,  and  the  earth  revolves  ; 
But  here  Imagination  is  allow’d 
To  clear  this  voucher  from  its  mantling  cloud : 
From  the  same  word  we  different  meanings  quote, 
As  David  wears  a many-colour’d  coat. 

0 Inspiration,  ever  hid  in  night. 

Reflecting  various  each  adjacent  light ! 

If  Moses  caught  thee  in  the  parted  flood  ; 

If  David  found  thee  in  a sea  of  hlood  ; 

If  Mahomet  with  slaughter  drench’d  thy  soil, 

On  loaded  asses  bearing  off*  thy  spoil  ; 

If  thou  hast  favour’d  Pagan,  Turk,  or  Jew, 

Say,  had  not  Broughton  inspiration  too  ? 

Such  rank  absurdities  debase  his  line, 

1 almost  could  have  sworn  he  copied  thine. 

Confute  with  candour,  where  you  can  confute, 

R( Jason  and  arrogance  but  poorly  suit. 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  REV.  MR.  CATCOTT.  113 

ifourself  may  fall  before  some  abler  pen, 
Infallibility  is  not  for  men. 

With  modest  diffidence  new  schemes  indite, 

Be  not  too  positive,  tho’  in  the  right. 

What  man  of  sense  would  value  vulgar  praise. 

Or  rise  on  Penny’s  prose,  or  duller  lays  ? 

Tho’  pointed  fingers  mark  the  man  of  fame, 

And  literary  grocers  chant  your  name  ; 

Tho’  in  each  tailor’s  bookcase  Catcott  shines. 
With  ornamental  flowers  and  gilded  lines ; 

Tho’  youthful  ladies,  who  by  instinct  scan 
The  Natural  Philosophy  of  Man, 

Can  ev’ry  reason  of  your  work  repeat. 

As  sands  in  Africa  retain  the  heat : 

Yet  check  your  flowing  pride : will  aU  allow 
To  wreathe  the  labour’d  laurel  round  your  brow  ? 
Some  may  with  seeming  arguments  dispense. 
Tickling  your  vanity  to  wound  your  sense : 

But  Clayfield  censures,  and  demonstrates  too. 
Your  theory  is  certainly  untrue  ; 

On  reason  and  Newtonian  rules  he  proves 
How  distant  your  machine  from  either  moves. 

But  my  objections  may  be  reckon’d  weak, 

As  nothing  but  my  mother-tongue  I speak ; 

Else  would  I ask,  by  what  immortal  Power 
A.11  Nature  was  dissolved  as  in  an  hour  ? 

How,  when  the  earth  acquired  a solid  state, 

And  rising  mountains  saw  the  waves  abate. 

Each  particle  of  matter  sought  its  kind, 

All  in  a strata  regular  combined? 

VOL.  I.  8 


114 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


When  instantaneously  the  liquid  heap 
JIarden’d  to  rocks,  the  barriers  of  the  deep, 
WTiy  did  not  earth  unite  a stony  mass, 

Since  stony  filaments  thro’  all  must  pass  ? 

If  on  the  wings  of  air  the  planets  run. 

Why  are  they  not  impell’d  into  the  sun  ? 
Philosophy,  nay,  common-sense,  will  prove 
All  passives  with  their  active  agents  move. 

If  the  diurnal  motion  of  the  air 

Revolves  the  planets  in  their  destined  sphere, 

How  are  the  secondary  orbs  impell’d  ? 

How  are  the  moons  from  falling  headlong  held  ? 

’Twas  the  Eternal’s  fiat,  you  reply ; 

And  who  will  give  Eternity  the  lie  ? 

I own  the  awful  truth,  that  God  made  all, 

And  by  his  fiat  worlds  and  systems  fall. 

But  study  Nature ; not  an  atom  there 
Will  unassisted  by  her  powers  appear. 

The  fiat,  without  agents,  is,  at  best, 

For  priestcraft  or  for  ignorance  a vest. 

Some  fancy  God  is  what  we  Nature  call, 

Being  itself  material,  all  in  all. 

The  fragments  of  the  Deity  we  own, 

Is  vulgarly  as  various  matter  known. 

No  agents  could  assist  Creation’s  birth : 

We  trample  on  our  God,  for  God  is  earth. 

’Tis  past  the  power  of  language  to  confute 
This  latitudinary  attribute. 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  REV.  MR.  CATCOTT.  Il5 

How  lofty  must  Imagination  soar, 

To  reach  absurdities  unknown  before! 

Thanks  to  thy  pinions,  Broughton,  thou  hast 
brought 

From  the  moon’s  orb  a novelty  of  thought. 
Restrain,  0 Muse,  thy  unaccomplish’d  lines, 

Fling  not  thy  saucy  satire  at  Divines ; 

This  single  truth  thy  brother  bards  must  tell — 
Thou  hast  one  excellence,  of  railing  well. 

But  disputations  are  befitting  those 

Who  settle  Hebrew  points,  and  scold  in  prose. 

0 Learning ! where  are  all  thy  fancied  joys, 

Thy  empty  pleasures  and  thy  solemn  toys  ? 

Proud  of  thy  own  importance,  tho’  we  see 
We  ’ve  little  reason  to  be  proud  of  thee  : 

Thou  putrid  foetus  of  a barren  brain. 

Thou  offspring  illegitimate  of  Pain. 

Tell  me,  sententious  mortals,  tell  me  whence 
You  claim  the  preference  to  men  of  sense  ? 

* * * wants  learning : see  the  letter’d  throng 

Banter  his  English  in  a Latin  song. 

Oxonian  sages  hesitate  to  speak 

Their  native  language,  but  declaim  in  Greek. 

If  in  his  jests  a discord  should  appear, 

A dull  lampoon  is  innocently  clear. 

Ye  classic  dunces,  self-sufficient  fools. 

Is  this  the  boasted  justice  of  your  schools  ? 

^ ^ has  parts — parts  which  would  set  aside 

The  labour’d  acquisitions  of  your  pride  ; 


116 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Uncultivated  now  his  genius  lies, 

Instruction  sees  his  latent  beauties  rise  3 
His  gold  is  bullion,  yours  debas’d  with  brass,^ 
Imprest  with  Folly’s  head  to  make  it  pass* 

But  ^ * swears  so  loud,  so  indiscreet. 

His  thunders  rattle  thro’  the  list’ning  street. 

Ye  rigid  Christians,  formally  severe. 

Blind  to  his  charities,  his  oaths  you  hear ; 
Observe  his  virtues  : Calumny  must  own 
A noble  soul  is  in  his  actions  shown : 

Tho’  dark  this  bright  original  you  paint, 

I’d  rather  be  a * * * than  a saint. 

Excuse  me,  Catcott,  if  from  you  I stray, 

The  Muse  will  go  where  Merit  leads  the  way . 
The  owls  of  learning  may  admire  the  night. 

But  * * * shines  with  Reason’s  glowing  liglit. 

Still  admonition  presses  to  my  pen. 

The  infant  muse  would  give  advice  to  men. 

But  what  avails  it,  since  the  man  I blame 
Owns  no  superior  in  the  paths  of  fame  ? 

In  springs,  in  mountains,  stratas,  mines,  and  rocks 
Catcott  is  every  notion  orthodox. 

.If  to  think  otherwise  you  claim  pretence, 

You  ’re  a detested  heretic  in  sense.^ 

But  oh  ! how  lofty  your  ideas  roar. 

In  showing  wond’ring  cits  the  fossile  store ! 

1 Renounce  is  written  over  the  first  two  words  of  this  line 
which  is  the  true  meaning  is  uncertain,  both  being  in  his  own 
handwriting,  and  uncancelled. — Southey’s  Edition. 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  REV.  MR.  CATCOTT.  117 

The  ladies  are  quite  ravish’d,  as  he  tells 
The  short  adventures  of  the  pretty  shells  ; 

Miss  Biddy  sickens  to  indulge  her  touch, 

Madam  more  prudent  thinks  ’twould  seem  too  much ; 

The  doors  fly  open,  instantly  he  draws 

The  sparry  load,  and — wonders  of  applause  ; 

The  full-dress’d  lady  sees  with  envying  eye 
1'he  sparkle  of  her  diamond  pendants  die  ; 

Sage  Natural  Philosophers  adore 

The  fossil  whimseys  of  the  numerous  store. 

But  see ! the  purple  stream  begins  to  play, 

To  show  how  fountains  climb  the  hilly  way : 

Hark  what  a murmur  echoes  through  the  throng— 
Gods ! that  the  pretty  trifle  should  be  wrong ! 
Experience  in  the  voice  of  Reason  tells 
Above  its  surface  water  never  swells. 

Where  is  the  priestly  soul  of  Catcott  now  ? 

See  what  a triumph  sits  upon  his  brow  ! 

And  can  the  poor  applause  of  things  like  these, 
Whose  souls  and  sentiments  are  all  disease. 

Raise  little  triumphs  in  a man  like  you, 

Catcott,  the  foremost  of  the  judging  few  ? 

So  at  Llewellin’s  your  great  brother  sits. 

The  laughter  of  his  tributary  wits. 

Ruling  the  noisy  multitude  with  ease, — 

Empties  his  pint,  and  sputters  his  decrees. 


Dec.  20,  1769. 

Mr.  Catcott  will  be  pleased  to  observe  that  I 
<^dmire  manv  thinofs  in  his  learned  Remnrks.  This 


il8 


ACKNOWLEDGED  rOE3IS. 


poem  is  an  innocent  effort  of  poetical  vengeance, 
as  Mr.  Catcott  has  done  me  the  honour  to  criticize 
my  trifles.  I have  taken  great  poetical  liberties, 
and  what  I dislike  in  verse  possibly  deserves  my 
approbation  in  the  plain  prose  of  Truth. — The 
many  admirers  of  Mr.  Catcott  may,  on  perusal  of 
this,  rank  me  as  an  enemy ; but  I am  indifierent 
in  all  things — I value  neither  the  praise  nor  the 
censure  of  the  multitude. 


SENTIMENT.  1769. 

Since  we  can  die  but  once,  what  matters  it, 

If  rope  or  garter,  poison,  pistol,  sword. 
Slow-wasting  sickness,  or  the  sudden  burst 
Of  valve  arterial  in  the  noble  parts. 

Curtail  the  miseries  of  human  life  ? 

Tho’  varied  is  the  cause,  the  effect ’s  the  same ; 
All  to  one  common  dissolution  tends.^ 

I Though  it  may  not  always  be  the  effect  of  infidel  prin- 
ciples, to  plunge  the  person  who  becomes  unfortunately  in- 
fected with  them  into  an  immediate  course  of  flagrant  and 
;hameless  depravity,  they  seldom  fail  to  unhinge  the  mind, 
and  render  it  the  sport  of  some  passion  unfriendly  to  our 
happiness  and  prosperity.  One  of  their  first  effects  in  Chat- 
terton  was  to  render  the  idea  of  suicide  familiar,  and  to  dis- 
pose him  to  think  lightly  of  the  most  sacred  deposit  with 
which  man  is  intrusted  by  his  Creator.  It  has  been  supposed 


THE  DEFENCE. 


Dec.  25,  1769. 

No  more,  dear  Smith,  the  hackneyed  tale  renew ; 
I own  their  censure,  I approve  it  too. 

For  how  can  idiots,  destitute  of  thought, 

Conceive,  or  estimate,  but  as  they’re  taught? 

Say,  can  the  satirizing  pen  of  Shears, 

Exalt  his  name,  or  mutilate  his  ears  ? 

None  but  a Lawrence  can  adorn  his  lays. 

Who  in  a quart  of  claret  drinks  his  praise. 

Taylor  repeats  what  Catcott  told  before. 

But  lying  Taylor  is  believed  no  more. 

If  in  myself  I think  my  notion  just. 

The  Church  and  all  her  arguments  are  dust. 

Religion’s  but  Opinion’s  bastard  son, 

A perfect  mystery,  more  than  three  in  one. 

’Tis  fancy  all,  distempers  of  the  mind ; 

As  Education  taught  us,  we’re  inclined. 

Happy  the  man,  whose  reason  bids  him  see 
Mankind  are  by  the  state  of  nature  free ; 

that  his  violent  death  in  London  was  the  sudden  and  ahnast 
mstant  effect  of  extreme  poverty  and  disappointment.  It 
appears,  however,  that  long  before  he  left  Bristol  he  had  re- 
oeatedly  intimated  his  intention  of  putting  an  end  to  his 
ixistence. — Dk.  Gregory 


120 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Who,  thinking  for  himself,  despises  those 
That  would  upon  his  better  sense  impose ; 

Is  to  himself  the  minister  of  God, 

Nor  dreads  the  path  where  Athanasius  trod. 
Happy  (if  mortals  can  be)  is  the  man. 

Who,  not  by  priest  but  Reason,  rules  his  span : 
Reason,  to  its  possessor  a sure  guide, 

Reason,  a thorn  in  Revelation’s  side. 

If  Reason  fails,  incapable  to  tread 
Thro’  gloomy  Revelation’s  thick’ning  bed. 

On  what  authority  the  Church  we  own? 

How  shall  we  worship  deities  unknown  ? 

Can  the  Eternal  Justice  pleas’d  receive 
The  prayers  of  those  who,  ignorant,  believe  ? 
Search  the  thick  multitudes  of  ev’ry  sect. 

The  Church  supreme,  with  Whitfield’s  new  Elect 
No  individual  can  their  God  define. 

No,  not  great  Penny,  in  his  nervous  line. 

But  why  must  Chatterton  selected  sit 
The  butt  of  ev’ry  critic’s  little  wit? 

Am  I alone  forever  in  a crime. 

Nonsense  in  prose,  or  blasphemy  in  rhyme  ? 

All  monosyllables  a line  appears  ? 

Is  it  not  very  often  so  in  Shears? 

See  gen’rous  Eccas,  length’ning  out  my  praise, 
Enraptur’d  with  the  music  of  my  lays ; 

In  all  the  arts  of  panegyric  graced. 

The  cream  of  modern  literary  taste.^ 

1 These  lines  are  an  evident  imitation  of  Pope,  even  to  the 
cadence  of  the  verse. — Dk.  Gregory.  * 


THE  DEFENCEc 


121 


Wliy,  to  be  sure,  the  metaphoric  line 
Has  something  sentimental,  tender,  fine  ; 

But  then  how  hobbling  are  the  other  two — 

There  are  some  beauties,  but  they’re  very  few. 
Besides  the  author,  ’faith  ’tis  something  odd, 
Commends  a reverential  awe  of  God. 

Read  but  another  fancy  of  his  brain. 

He ’s  atheistical  in  every  strain. 

Fallacious  is  the  charge — ’tis  all  a lie. 

As  to  my  reason  I can  testify. 

I own  a God,  immortal,  boundless,  wise, 

Who  bid  our  glories  of  Creation  rise  ; 

Who  form’d  his  varied  likeness  in  mankind, 
Cent’ring  his  many  wonders  in  the  mind ; 

Who  saw  religion,  a fantastic  night. 

But  gave  us  reason  to  obtain  the  light. 

Indulgent  Whitfield  scruples  not  to  say. 

He  only  can  direct  to  heaven’s  highway ; 

While  bishops,  with  as  much  vehemence  tell. 

All  sects  ^ heterodox  are  food  for  hell. 

Why  then,  dear  Smith,  since  doctors  disagree. 
Their  notions  are  not  oracles  to  me : 

What  I think  right  I ever  will  pursue, 

And  leave  you  liberty  to  do  so  too.^ 

1 * Sorts  ’ is  written  under  ‘ sects  ’ ; both  in  the  author’s 
handwriting,  and  uncancelled. 

2 Setting  aside  the  opinions  of  those  uncharitable  biogra- 
phers whose  imaginations  have  conducted  Chatterton  to  the 
gibbet,  it  may  be  owned  that  his  unformed  character  exhib- 
ited strong  and  conflicting  elements  of  good  and  evil.  Even 
the  momentary  project  of  the  infldel  boy  to  become  a meth 


A BURLESQUE  CANTATA. 


RECITATIVE. 

Mounted  aloft  in  Bristofs  narrow  streets, 
Where  pride  and  luxury  with  meanness  meets, 
A sturdy  collier  prest  the  empty  sack, 

A troop  of  thousands  swarming  on  his  back ; 
When  sudden  to  his  rapt  extatic  view 
Rose  the  brown  beauties  of  his  red-hair’d  Sue. 
Music  spontaneous  echoed  from  his  tongue. 
And  thus  the  lover  rather  bawl’d  than  sung. 

AIR. 

Zaunds ! Pri’thee,  pretty  Zue,  is  it  thee ! 

Odzookers  I mun  have  a kiss. 

A sweetheart  should  always  be  free, 

I whope  you  wunt  take  it  amiss. 


odist  preacher,  betrays  an  obliquity  of  design,  and  a contempt 
of  human  credulity,  that  is  not  very  amiable.  But  had  he 
been  spared,  his  pride  and  ambition  would  have  come  to 
flow  in  proper  channels  ; his  understanding  would  have 
taught  him  the  practical  value  of  truth  and  the  dignity  of 
virtue,  and  he  would  have  despised  artifice  when  he  had  felt 
the  strength  and  security  of  wisdom. — Campbell. 


SOXG. 


123 


Thy  peepers  are  blacker  than  caul, 

Thy  carcase  is  sound  as  a sack, 

Thy  visage  is  whiter  than  ball, 

Odzookers  I mun  have  a smack  ! 

RECITATIVE. 

The  swain  descending,  in  his  raptured  arms 
Held  fast  the  goddess,  and  despoiled  her  charms. 
Whilst  lock’d  in  Cupid’s  amorous  embrace. 

His  jetty  shinnis  met  her  red  bronz’d  face  ; 

It  seem’d  the  sun  when  labouring  in  eclipse 
And  on  her  nose  he  stamp’d  his  sable  lips, 
Pleas’d  * ^ * 


SONG. 

FANNY  OF  THE  HILL.^  1770. 

If  gentle  Love’s  immortal  fire 
Could  animate  the  quill. 

Soon  should  the  rapture-speaking  lyre 
Sing  Fanny  of  the  Hill. 

A Miss  F.  B * * *,  on  RedclifF  Hill,  Bristol. 

The  name  of  Fanny  which  was  first  written,  was  after- 
wards cancelled,  and  that  of  Betsy  substituted  in  its  stead; 
but  for  what  reason  was  best  known  to  the  author. 

Southey’s  Edition, 


124 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


My  panting  heart  incessant  moves, 
No  interval  ’tis  still ; 

And  all  my  ravish’d  nature  loves 
Sweet  Fanny  of  the  Hill. 

Her  dying  soft  expressive  eye, 

Her  elegance  must  kill ; 

Ye  Gods  ! how  many  thousands  die 
For  Fanny  of  the  Hill. 

A love-taught  tongue,  angelic  air, 

A sentiment,  a skill 

In  all  the  graces  of  the  fair, 

Mark  Fanny  of  the  Hill. 

Thou  mighty  Power,  eternal  Fate, 
My  happiness  to  fill, 

O ! bless  a wretched  lover’s  state 
With  Fanny  of  the  Hill. 


HAPPINESS. 

Since  happiness  was  not  ordain’d  for  man. 
Let ’s  make  ourselves  as  easy  as  we  can  ; 
Possest  with  fame  or  fortune,  friend  or  w — 
But  think  it  happiness — we  want  no  more. 


HAPPINESS. 


125 


Hail,  Revelation  ! sphere-envelop’d  dame, 

To  some  divinity,  to  most  a name. 

Reason’s  dark-lantern,  superstition’s  sun, 

Whose  cause  mysterious  and  effect  are  one — » 
From  thee,  ideal  bliss  we  only  trace. 

Fair  as  Ambition’s  dream,  or  Beauty’s  face, 

But,  in  reality,  as  shadowy  found 
As  seeming  truth  in  twisted  mysteries  bound. 
Wliat  little  rest  from  over-anxious  care 
The  lords  of  Nature  are  design’d  to  share, 

To  wanton  whim  and  prejudice  we  owe. 

Opinion  is  the  only  God  we  know. 

Our  furthest  wish,  the  Deity  we  fear 
In  diff’rent  subjects,  differently  appear. 

Where ’s  the  foundation  of  religion  plac’d  ? 

On  every  individual’s  fickle  taste. 

The  narrow  way  the  priest-rid  mortals  tread, 

By  superstitious  prejudice  misled. — 

This  passage  leads  to  heaven — yet,  strange  to 
tell! 

Another’s  conscience  finds  it  lead  to  hell. 
Conscience,  the  soul-camelion’s  varying  hue. 
Reflects  all  notions,  to  no  notion  true. — 

The  bloody  son  of  Jesse,  when  he  saw 
The  mystic  priesthood  kept  the  Jews  in  awe. 

He  made  himself  an  ephod  to  his  mind. 

And  sought  the  Lord,  and  always  found  him 
kind : 

In  murder,  horrid  cruelty,  and  lust. 

The  Lord  was  with  him,  and  his  actions  just. 


126 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Priestcraft ! thou  universal  blind  of  all, 

Thou  idol,  at  whose  feet  all  nations  fall ; 
Father  of  misery,  origin  of  sin. 

Whose  first  existence  did  with  fear  begin ; 

Still  sparing  deal  thy  seeming  blessings  out, 
Veil  thy  Elysium  with  a cloud  of  doubt — 
Since  present  blessings  in  possession  cloy. 

Bid  hope  in  future  worlds  expect  the  joy ; 

Or,  if  thy  sons  the  airy  phantoms  slight. 

And  dawning  Reason  would  direct  them  right. 
Some  glittering  trifle  to  their  optics  hold ; 
Perhaps  they  dl  think  the  glaring  spangle  gold, 
And,  madded  in  the  search  of  coins  and  toys. 
Eager  pursue  the  momentary  joys. 

Mercator  worships  Mammon,  and  adores 

No  other  deity  but  gold  and  w es. 

Catcott  is  very  fond  of  talk  and  fame — 

His  wish  a perpetuity  of  name ; 

Which  to  procure,  a pewter  altar ’s  made. 

To  bear  his  name  and  signify  his  trade ; 

In  pomp  burlesqued  the  rising  spire  to  head, 
To  tell  futurity  a pewterer ’s  dead. 
Incomparable  Catcott,  still  pursue 
The  seeming  happiness  thou  hast  in  view : 
Unfinish’d  chimneys,  gaping  spires  complete, 
Eternal  fame  on  oval  dishes  beat; 

Ride  four-inch  bridges,  clouded  turrets  climb, 
And  bravely  die — to  five  in  after  time. 

Horrid  idea  ! if  on  rolls  of  fame 


HAPPINESS. 


127 


The  twentieth  century  only  find  thy  name. 
Unnoticed  this  in  prose  or  tagging  fiower, 

He  left  his  dinner  to  ascend  the  tower. 

Then,  what  avails  thy  anxious  spitting  pain  ? 

Thy  laugh-provoking  labours  are  in  vain. 

On  matrimonial  pewter  set  thy  hand  ; 

Hammer  with  ev’ry  power  thou  canst  com- 
mand ; 

Stamp  thy  whole  self,  original  as  ’tis, 

To  propagate  thy  whimseys,  name,  and  phiz — 
Then,  when  the  tottering  spires  or  chimneys 
fall, 

A Catcott  shall  remain  admired  by  all. 

Eudo,  who  has  some  trifling  couplets  writ, 

Is  only  happy  when  he ’s  thought  a wit 

Thinks  Tve  more  judgment  than  the  whole 
Reviews, 

Because  I always  compliment  his  muse. 

If  any  mildly  would  reprove  his  faults. 

They’re  critics  envy-sicken’d  at  his  thoughts. 

To  me  he  flies,  his  best-beloved  friend. 

Reads  me  asleep,  then  wakes  me  to  commend. 

Say,  sages — if  not  sleep-charmed  by  the  rhyme, 
Is  flattery,  much-lov’d  flattery,  any  crime  ? 

Shall  dragon  Satire  exercise  his  sting. 

And  not  insinuating  Flattery  sing  ? 

Is  it  more  noble  to  torment  than  please  ? 

How  ill  that  thought  with  rectitude  agrees ! 


128 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Come  to  mj  pen,  companion  of  the  lay, 

And  speak  of  worth  where  merit  cannot  say ; 
Let  lazy  Barton  undistinguish’d  snore, 

Nor  lash  his  generosity  to  Hoare  ; 

Praise  him  for  sermons  of  his  curate  bought, 
His  easy  flow  of  words,  his  depth  of  thought ; 
His  active  spirit,  ever  in  display. 

His  great  devotion  when  he  drawls  to  pray ; 
His  sainted  soul  distinguishably  seen. 

With  all  the  virtues  of  a modern  dean. 

Varo,  a genius  of  peculiar  taste. 

His  misery  in  his  happiness  is  plac’d  ; 

When  in  soft  calm  the  waves  of  Fortune  roll, 
A tempest  of  reflection  storms  the  soul ; 

But  what  would  make  another  man  distrest, 
Gives  him  tranquillity  and  thoughtless  rest : 
No  disappointment  can  his  peace  invade, 
Superior  to  all  troubles  not  self-made — 

This  character  let  gray  Oxonians  scan. 

And  tell  me  of  what  species  he ’s  a man. 

Or  be  it  by  young  Yea,tman  criticized. 

Who  damns  good  English  if  not  Latinized. 

In  Aristotle’s  scale  the  Muse  he  weighs. 

And  damps  her  little  fire  with  copied  lays  ! 
Vers’d  in  the  mystic  learning  of  the  schools, 
He  rings  bob-majors  by  Leibnitzian  rules. 

Pulvis,  whose  knowledge  centres  in  degrees. 
Is  never  happy  but  when  taking  fees. 


HAPPINESS. 


129 


Blest  with  a bushy  wig  and  solemn  grace, 
Catcott  admires  him  for  a fossile  face. 

When  first  his  farce  of  countenance  began, 

Ere  the  soft  down  had  mark’d  him  almost  man, 
A.  solemn  dulness  occupied  his  eyes, 

And  t he  fond  mother  thought  him  wondrous  wise 
But  little  had  she  read  in  Nature’s  book, 

That  fools  assume  a philosophic  look. 

0 Education,  ever  in  the  wrong. 

To  thee  the  curses  of  mankind  belong ; 

Thou  first  great  author  of  our  future  state. 

Chief  source  of  our  religion,  passions,  fate : 

On  every  atom  of  the  Doctor’s  frame 
Nature  has  stamp’d  the  pedant  with  his  name  ; 
But  thou  hast  made  him  (ever  wast  thou  blind) 
A licens’d  butcher  of  the  human  kind. 

Mould’ring  in  dust  the  fair  Lavinia  lies  ; 

Death  and  our  Doctor  clos’d  her  sparkling  eyes. 
0 all  ye  Powers,  the  guardians  of  the  world ! 
Where  is  the  useless  bolt  of  vengeance  hurl’d  ? 
Say,  shall  this  leaden  sword  of  plague  prevail. 
And  kill  the  mighty  where  the  mighty  fail ! 

Let  the  red  bolus  tremble  o’er  his  head. 

And  with  his  cordial  julep  strike  him  dead. 

But  to  return — in  this  wide  sea  of  thought, 

VIow  shall  we  steer  our  notions  as  we  ought  ? 
VOL.  I.  9 


180 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Content  is  happiness,  as  sages  say — 

But  what’s  content  ? The  trifle  of  a day. 
Then,  friend,  let  inclination  be  thy  guide, 
Nor  be  by  superstition  led  aside. 

The  saint  and  sinner,  fool  and  wise  attain 
An  equal  share  of  easiness  and  pain.^ 


THE  WHORE  OF  BABYLON.* 

BOOK  THE  FIRST. 

Newton,^  accept  the  tribute  of  a line 
From  one  whose  humble  genius  honours  thine. 
Mysterious  shall  thy  mazy  numbers  seem. 

To  give  thee  matter  for  a future  dream. 

Thy  happy  talents,  meanings  to  untie, 

My  vacancy  of  meaning  may  supply ; 

1 When  or  how  Chatterton  was  unfortunate  enough  to  re- 
ceive a tincture  of  infidelity,  we  are  not  informed.  Early  in 
the  year  1769,  it  appears  from  a poem  on  “ Happiness,” 
addressed  to  Mr.  Catcott,  that  he  had  drunk  deeply  of  the 
poisoned  spring.  And  in  the  conclusion  of  a letter  to  the 
lame  gentleman,  after  he  left  Bristol,  he  expresses  himself, 
‘ Heaven  send  you  the  comforts  of  Christianity;  I request 
them  not,  for  I am  no  Christian.” — Dr.  GREGOur. 

2 The  reader  will  remark  that  a considerable  portion  of  the 
following  Poem  has  already  appeared  in  the  “ Kew  Gardens.” 
See  ante^  page  31.  The  circumstance  has  been  referred  to  iu 
the  Life. 

® Dr.  Newton,  then  Bishop  of  Bristol. 


THE  WHORE  OF  BABYLON. 


131 


And  where  the  Muse  is  witty  in  a dash, 

Thy  explanations  may  enforce  the  lash : 

How  shall  the  line,  grown  servile  in  respect, 

To  North  or  Sandwich  infamy  direct  ? 

Unless  a wise  elipsis  intervene. 

How  shall  I satirize  the  sleepy  Dean  ? ^ 

Perhaps  the  Muse  might  fortunately  strike 
A highly  finish’d  picture  very  like. 

But  deans  are  all  so  lazy,  dull,  and  fat. 

None  could  be  certain  worthy  Barton  sat. 

Come  then,  my  Newton,  leave  the  musty  lines 
Where  Revelation’s  farthing  candle  shines, 

In  search  of  hidden  truths  let  others  go — 

Be  thou  the  fiddle  to  my  puppet-show. 

What  are  these  hidden  truths  but  secret  lies. 
Which  from  diseas’d  imaginations  rise  ? 

What  if  our  politicians  should  succeed 
In  fixing  up  the  ministerial  creed. 

Who  could  such  golden  arguments  refuse 
Which  melts  and  proselytes  the  harden’d  Jews  ? 
When  universal  reformation  bribes 
With  words  and  wealthy  metaphors  the  tribes. 
To  empty  pews  the  brawny  chaplain  swears. 
Whilst  none  but  trembling  superstition  hears. 
When  ministers  with  sacerdotal  hands 
Baptize  the  flock  in  streams  of  golden  sands, 
Through  ev’ry  town  conversion  wings  her  way, 
And  conscience  is  a prostitute  for  pay. 


1 Dr.  Barton,  Deac  of  Bristol. 


132 


ACKKOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Faith  removes  mountains,  like  a modern  dean  ; 
Faith  can  see  virtues  which  were  never  seen. 
Our  pious  ministry  this  sentence  quote, 

To  prove  their  instrument’s  superior  vote. 

Whilst  Luttrell,,  happy  in  his  lordship’s  voice, 
Bids  faith  persuade  us  ’tis  the  people’s  choice. 
This  mountain  of  objections  to  remove. 

This  knotty,  rotten  argument  to  prove. 

Faith  insufficient,  Newton  caught  the  pen, 

And  show’d  by  demonstration,  one  was  ten. 

What  boots  it  if  he  reason’d  right  or  no, 

’Twas  orthodox — the  Thane  ^ would  have  it  so. 
And  who  shall  doubts  and  false  conclusions  draw 
Against  the  inquisitions  of  the  law. 

With  jailers,  chains,  and  pillories  must  plead. 
And  Mansfield’s  conscience  settle  right  bis  creed 
Is  Mansfield’s  conscience  then,  will  Reason  cry, 
A standard  block  to  dress  our  notions  by  ? 

Why  what  a blunder  has  the  fool  let  fall. 

That  Mansfield  has  no  conscience,  none  at  all. 
Pardon  me.  Freedom  ! this  and  something  more 
The  knowing  writer  might  have  known  before  ; 
But  bred  in  Bristol’s  mercenary  cell, 

Compell’d  in  scenes  of  avarice  to  dwell. 

What  gen’rous  passion  can  refine  my  breast  ? 
What  besides  interest  has  my  mind  possest  ? 

And  should  a gabbling  truth  like  this  be  told 
By  me  instructed,  here  to  slave  for  gold. 


* Lord  Bute. 


THE  WHORE  OF  BABYLON. 


1^3 


My  prudent  neighbours  (who  can  read)  would  see 
Another  Savage  ^ to  be  starved  in  me. 

Faith  is  a powerful  virtue  everywhere : 

By  this  once  Bristol  drest,  for  Cato,  Clare 
But  now  the  blockheads  grumble,  Nugent’s  made 
Lord  of  their  choice,  he  being  lord  of  trade. 

They  bawl’d  for  Clare  when  little  in  their  eyes, 
But  cannot  to  the  titled  villain  rise. 

This  state  credulity,  a bait  for  fools, 

Employs  his  lordship’s  literary  tools. 

Murphy,  a bishop  of  the  chosen  sect, 

A ruling  pastor  of  the  lord’s  elect, 

Keeps  journals,  posts,  and  magazines  in  awe. 

And  parcels  out  his  daily  statute  law. 

Would  you  the  bard’s  veracity  dispute  ? 

He  borrows  persecution’s  scourge  from  Bute, 

An  excommunication  satire  writes. 

And  the  slow  mischief  trifles  till  it  bites. 

This  faith,  a subject  for  a longer  theme. 

Is  not  the  substance  of  a waking  dream ; 

Though  blind  and  dubious  to  behold  the  right, 

\ts  optics  mourn  a fixed  Egyptian  night. 

Yet  things  unseen  are  seen  so  very  clear. 

She  knew  fresh  muster  must  begin  the  year ; 

She  knows  that  North,  by  Bute  and  conscience  led, 
Will  hold  his  honours  till  his  favour’s  dead  ; 

She  knows  that  Martin,  ere  he  can  be  great. 

Must  practise  at  the  target  of  the  state : 

1 The  unfortunate  poet  Chatterton’s  comparison  was  pro- 
phetic. 


134 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


If  then  his  erring  pistol  should  not  kill, 

Why  Martin  must  remain  a traitor  still. 

His  gracious  mistress,  gen’rous  to  the  brave. 

Will  not  neglect  the  necessary  knave ; 

Since  pious  Chudleigh  is  become  her  grace, 
Martin  turns  rump,  to  occupy  her  place. 

Say,  Rigby,  in  the  honours  of  the  door 
How  properly  a knave  succeeds  a whore. 

She  knows  the  subject  almost  slipt  my  quill, 

Lost  in  that  pistol  of  a woman’s  will ; 

She  knows  when  Bute  would  exercise  his  rod, 
The  worthiest  of  the  worthy  sons  of  God. 

But  (say  the  critics)  this  is  saying  much. 

The  Scriptures  tell  us  peacemakers  are  such.  ' 
Who  can  dispute  his  title,  who  deny 
What  taxes  and  oppression  justify  ? 

Who  of  the  Thane’s  beatitude  can  doubt  ? 

Oh ! was  but  North  as  sure  of  being  out : 

And,  (as  I end  whatever  I begin,) 

Was  Chatham  but  as  sure  of  being  in. 

But  foster  child  of  Fate,  dear  to  a dame. 

Whom  satire  freely  would,  but  dare  not  name. 
Ye  plodding  barristers,  who  hunt  a flaw. 

What  mischief  would  you  from  the  sentence  draw 
Tremble  and  stand  attentive  as  a dean. 

Know  royal  favour  is  the  thing  I mean. 

To  sport  with  royalty  the  muse  forbears. 

And  kindly  takes  compassion  on  my  ears. 

When  once  Shibbeard  in  glorious  triumph  stood 
Upon  a rostrum  of  distinguish’d  wood. 


THE  WHORE  OF  BABYLON. 


135 


Who  then  withheld  his  guinea  or  his  praise, 

Or  envied  him  his  crown  of  English  bays  ? 

But  now  Modestus^  truant  to  the  cause, 

Assists  the  pioneers  who  sap  the  laws. 

Wreaths  infamy  around  a sinking  pen. 

Who  could  withhold  the  pillory  again. 

But  lifted  into  notice,  by  the  eyes 
Of  one  whose  optics  always  set  to  rise, — 
Forgive  a pun,  ye  Rationals,  forgive 
A flighty  youth  as  yet  unlearn’d  to  live. 

Wlien  I have  conn’d  each  sage’s  musty  rule, 

I may  with  greater  reason  play  the  fool. 
Burgum  and  I,  in  ancient  lore  untaught. 

Are  always,  with  our  nature,  in  a fault : 

Though  Camplin  would  instruct  us  in  the  part, 
Our  stubborn  morals  would  not  err  by  art. 
Having  in  various  starts  from  order  stray’d. 
We’ll  call  imagination  to  our  aid. 

See  Bute  astride  upon  a wrinkled  hag. 

His  hand  replenish’d  with  an  open’d  bag. 
Whence  fly  the  ghosts  of  taxes  and  supplies. 
The  sales  of  places  and  the  last  excise. 

Upon  the  ground  in  seemly  order  laid 
The  Stuarts  stretch’d  the  majesty  of  plaid. 

Rich  with  the  peer,  dependance  bow’d  the  head, 
And  saw  their  hopes  arising  from  the  dead ; 

His  countrymen  were  muster’d  into  place. 

And  a Scotch  piper  was  above  his  grace. 

But  say.  Astrologers,  could  this  be  strange, 

The  lord  of  the  ascendant  mled  the  change, 


13()  ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 

And  music,  whether  bagpipes,  fiddles,  drums, 

All  which  is  sense  as  meaning  overcomes  ? 

So  now  this  universal  fav’rite  Scot 
His  former  native  poverty  forgot. 

The  highest  member  of  the  car  of  state, 

Where  well  he  plays  at  blindman’s  buff  with  fate 
If  Fortune  condescends  to  bless  his  play, 

And  drop  a rich  havannah  in  his  way. 

He  keeps  it  with  intention  to  release 
All  conquest  at  the  general  day  of  peace. 

When  first  and  foremost  to  divide  the  spoil. 

Some  millions  down  might  satisfy  his  toil : 

To  guide  the  car  of  war  he  fancied  not 
Where  honour,  and  not  money,  could  be  got. 

The  Scots  have  tender  honours  to  a man ; 
Honour ’s  the  tie  that  bundles  up  the  clan. 

They  want  one  requisite  to  be  divine. 

One  requisite  in  which  all  others  shine. 

They’re  very  poor  ; then  who  can  blame  the  hand 
Who  polishes  by  wealth  his  native  land  ? 

And  to  complete  the  worth  possess’d  before. 
Gives  ev’ry  Scotchman  one  perfection  more. 
Nobly  bestows  the  infamy  of  place. 

And  Campbell  struts  about  in  doubled  lace. 

Who  says  Bute  barters  place,  and  nobly  sold 
His  king,  his  union'd  countrymen,  for  gold  ? 
When  ministerial  hirelings  proofs  defy, 

If  Musgrave  cannot  prove  it,  how  can  I ? 

No  facts  unwarranted  shall  soil  my  quill. 

Suffice  it  there’s  a strong  suspicion  still. 


THE  WHORE  OP  BABYLON. 


137 


When  Bute  the  iron  rod  of  favour  shook, 

And  bore  his  haughty  passions  in  his  look, 

Nor  yet  contented  with  his  boundless  sway, 
Which  all  perforce  must  outwardly  obey. 

He  sought  to  throw  his  chain  upon  the  mind. 

Nor  would  he  leave  conjectures  unconfin’d  ; 

We  saw  his  measures  wrong,  and  yet  in  spite 
Of  reason  we  must  think  these  measures  right : 
Whilst  curb’d  and  check’d  by  his  imperious  reign, 
We  must  be  satisfied,  and  not  complain. 
Complaints  are  libels,  as  the  present  age 
Are  all  instructed  by  a law-wise  sage. 

Who,  happy  in  his  eloquence  and  fees. 

Advances  to  preferment  by  degrees ; 

Trembles  to  think  of  such  a daring  step. 

As  from  a tool  to  Chancellor  to  leap  : 

But  lest  his  prudence  should  the  law  disgrace, 

He  keeps  a longing  eye  upon  the  mace. 

Whilst  Bute  was  suffer’d  to  pursue  his  plan. 

And  ruin  freedom  as  he  rais’d  his  clan. 

Could  not  his  pride,  his  universal  pride. 

With  working  undisturb’d  be  satisfied  ? 

But  when  we  saw  the  villainy  and  fraud. 

What  conscience  but  a Scotchman’s  could  ap- 
plaud? 

But  yet  ’twas  nothing  cheating  in  our  sight, 

We  should  have  humm’d  ourselves  and  thought 
them  right. 

This  faith,  establish’d  by  the  mighty  Thane, 
vYill  long  outlive  that  system  of  the  Dane : 


138 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


This  faith — but  now  the  number  must  be  brief, 
All  human  things  are  center’d  in  belief ; 

And  (or  the  philosophic  sages  dream) 

Nothing  is  really  so  as  it  may  seem. 

Faith  is  a glass  to  rectify  our  sight, 

And  teach  us  to  distinguish  wrong  from  right : 
By  this  corrected  Bute  appears  a Pitt, 

And  candour  marks  the  lines  which  Murphy  writ 
Then  let  this  faith  support  our  ruin’d  cause, 

And  give  us  back  our  liberties  and  laws. 

No  more  complain  of  fav’rites  made  by  lust, 

No  more  think  Chatham’s  patriot  reasons  just, 
But  let  the  Babylonish  harlot  see. 

You  to  her  Baal  bow  the  humble  knee. 

Lost  in  the  praises  of  the  fav’rite  Scot, 

My  better  theme,  my  Newton,  was  forgot. 

Blest  with  a pregnant  wit,  and  never  known 
To  boast  of  one  impertinence  his  own. 

He  warp’d  his  vanity  to  serve  his  God, 

And  in  the  paths  of  pious  fathers  trod. 

Though  genius  might  have  started  something  new 
He  honour’d  lawn,  and  prov’d  his  scripture  true ; 
No  literary  worth  presum’d  upon. 

He  wrote  the  understrapper  of  St.  John, 
Unravell’d  ev’ry  mystic  simile. 

Rich  in  the  faith,  and  fanciful  as  me  ; 

Pull’d  Revelation’s  sacred  robes  aside. 

And  saw  what  priestly  modesty  should  hide  ; 
Then  seiz’d  the  pen,  and  with  a good  intent, 
Discover’d  hidden  meanings  never  meant. 


THE  WHORE  OF  BABYLON. 


1^9 


The  reader  who,  in  carnal  notions  bred, 

Has  Athanasius  without  rev’rence  read, 

Will  make  a scurvy  kind  of  lenten-feast 
Upon  the  tortur’d  otfals  of  the  beast ; 

But  if  in  happy  superstition  taught. 

He  never  once  presum’d  to  doubt  in  thought ; 
Like  Catcott,  lost  in  prejudice  and  pride. 

He  takes  the  literal  meaning  for  his  guide. 

Let  him  read  Newton,  and  his  bill  of  fare — 
What  prophecies  unprophesied  are  there ! 

In  explanation  he’s  so  justly  skill’d. 

The  pseudo-prophet’s  mys’tries  are  fulfill’d ; 

No  superficial  reasons  have  disgrac’d 
The  worthy  prelate’s  sacerdotal  taste  ; 

No  flaming  arguments  he  holds  in  view. 

Like  Camplin  he  affirms  it,  and  ’tis  true. 

Faith,  Newton,  is  the  tott’ring  churchman’s  crutch, 
On  which  our  blest  religion  builds  so  much ; 

Thy  fame  would  feel  the  loss  of  this  support. 

As  much  as  Sawny’s  instruments  at  court : 

For  secret  services,  without  a name. 

And  myst’ries  in  religion  are  the  same. 

But  to  return  to  state,  from  whence  the  muse 
In  wild  digression  smaller  themes  pursues. 

And  rambling  from  his  grace’s  magic  rod. 
Descends  to  lash  the  ministers  of  God. 

Both  are  adventures  perilous  and  hard. 

And  often  bring  destruction  on  the  bard  ; 

For  priests  and  hirelings,  ministers  of  state, 

Are  priests  in  love,  infernals  in  their  hate. 


MO 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


The  eliurch,  no  theme  for  satire,  scorns  the  lash, 
And  will  not  suffer  scandal  in  a dash. 

Not  Bute,  so  tender  in  his  spotless  fame ; 

Not  Bute,  so  careful  of  his  lady’s  name. 

Has  sable  lost  its  virtue  ? will  the  bell 
No  longer  send  a straying  sprite  to  hell  ? 

Since  souls,  when  animate  with  life,  are  sold 
For  benefices,  bishoprics,  and  gold ; 

Since  mitres,  nightly  laid  upon  the  breast. 

Can  charm  the  nightmare,  conscience,  into  rest, 
And  learn’d  exorcists  very  lately  made 
Greater  improvements  in  the  living  trade ; 

Since  Warburton  (of  whom  in  future  rhymes) 
Has  settled  reformation  on  the  times, 

Whilst  from  the  teeming  press  his  numbers  fly, 
And,  like  his  reasons,  just  exist  and  die  ; 

Since  in  the  steps  of  clerical  degree 
All  through  the  telescope  of  fancy  see ; 

Though  fancy  under  reason’s  lash  may  fall, 

Yet  fancy  in  religion’s  all  in  all. 

^Vmongst  the  cassock’d  worthies  is  there  one 
Who  has  the  conscience  to  be  Freedom’s  son? 
Horne,  patriotic  Horne,  will  join  the  cause, 

And  tread  on  mitres  to  procure  applause. 
Prepare  thy  book,  and  sacerdotal  dress, 

To  lay  a walking  spirit  of  the  press. 

Who  knocks  at  midnight  at  his  lordship’s  door 
And  roars  in  hollow  voice,  a hundred  more. 

A hundred  more — his  rising  lordship  ci’ies. 
Astonishment  and  terror  in  his  eyes : 


THE  WHORE  OP  BABTLON. 


14J 


A hundred  more — ^by  G-d,  I won’t  comply  : 
Give,  quoth  the  voice,  I’ll  raise  a hue  and  cry ; 
In  a wrong  scent  the  leading  beagle ’s  gone, 
Your  interrupted  measures  may  go  on ; 

Grant  what  I ask,  I’ll  witness  to  the  Thane 
I’m  not  another  Fanny  of  Cock-lane. 

Enough,  says  Mungo,  reassume  the  quill. 

And  what  I can  afford  to  give  I will. 

When  Bute,  the  ministry,  and  people’s  head 
With  royal  favour  pension’d  Johnson  dead, 

The  muse  in  undeserv’d  oblivion  sunk, 

Was  read  no  longer,  and  the  man  was  drunk. 
Some  blockhead,  ever  envious  of  his  fame. 
Massacred  Shakspeare  in  the  doctor’s  name: 
The  pulpit  saw  the  cheat,  and  wonder’d  not — 
Death  is  of  all  mortality  the  lot. 

Kenrick  had  wrote  his  elegy,  and  penn’d 
A piece  of  decent  praise  for  such  a friend  ; 

And  universal  catcalls  testified 
How  mourn’d  the  critics  when  the  genius  died. 
But  now,  though  strange  the  fact  to  deists  seem, 
His  ghost  is  risen  in  a venal  theme  ! 

And  emulation  madden’d  all  the  Row, 

To  catch  the  strains  which  from  a spectre  flow. 
And  print  the  reason  of  a bard  deceas’d 
Who  once  gave  all  the  town  a weekly  feast. 

As  beer  to  ev’ry  drinking  purpose  dead. 

Is  to  a wondrous  metamorphose  led. 

And  open’d  to  the  action  of  the  winds, 

Vn  vinegar  a resurrection  finds, 


i42 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Ilis  genius  dead,  and  decently  interred, 

The  clam’rous  noise  of  duns  sonorous  heard, 
Tower’d  into  life,  assum’d  the  heavy  pen, 

And  saw  existence  for  an  hour  again. 

Scatter’d  his  thoughts  spontaneous  from  his  brairi, 
And  proved  we  had  no  reason  to  complain ; 
Whilst  from  his  fancy  figures  budded  out. 

As  hair  on  humid  carcases  will  sprout. 

Horne  set  this  restless  shallow  spirit  still. 

And  from  his  venal  fingers  snatch’d  the  quill. 

If  in  defiance  of  the  priestly  word 
He  still  will  scribble  learnedly  absurd. 

North  is  superior  in  a potent  charm 
To  lay  the  terrors  of  a false  alarm. 

Another  hundred  added  to  his  five 
No  longer  is  the  stumbling-block  alive ; 

Fix’d  in  his  chair,  contented  and  at  home. 

The  busy  rambler  will  no  longer  roam ; 

Releas’d  from  servitude,  (such  ’tis  to  think,) 

He’ll  prove  it  perfect  happiness  to  drink ; 

Once,  (let  the  lovers  of  Irene  weep,) 

He  thought  it  perfect  happiness  to  sleep  : 

Irene,  perfect  composition,  came 
To  give  us  happiness,  the  author  fame  ; 

A snore  was  much  more  grateful  than  a clap. 

And  box,  pit,  gallery,  own’d  it  in  a nap. 

Hail,  Johnson,  chief  of  bards  ! thy  rigid  laws 
Bestow’d  due  praise,  and  critics  snor’d  applause.* 

* Long  before  the  fame  of  Chatterton  had  gone  abroad,  the 
»”erses  which  appeared  with  his  name  in  the  magazines,  and 


THE  WHORE  OF  BABYLON. 


143 


If  from  the  humblest  station  in  a place, 

By  writers  fix’d  eternal  in  disgrace, 

with  a brief  account  of  the  obscurity  of  his  birth,  and  his 
entire  deprivation  of  literary  instruction,  had  inspired  my 
youthful  mind  with  conviction  of  the  magnitude  of  his  ge- 
nius, so  finely  of  late  years  eulogized  by  Coleridge.  Soon 
after  the  volume  above  mentioned  appeared,  I spoke  of  its 
author  to  Dr.  Johnson  with  the  warmest  tribute  of  my  admi- 
ration; but  he  would  not  hear  me  on  the  subject,  exclaiming 
“ Pho,  child  ! don’t  talk  to  me  of  the  powers  of  a vulgar, 
uneducated  stripling.  He  may  be  another  Stephen  Duck.  It 
may  be  extraordinary  to  do  such  things  as  he  did,  with  means 
so  slender;  but  what  did  Stephen  Duck  do,  what  could  Chat- 
terton  do,  which,  abstracted  from  the  recollection  of  his  situ- 
ation, can  be  worth  the  attention  of  learning  and  taste? 
Neither  of  them  had  opportunities  of  enlarging  their  stock  of 
ideas.  No  man  can  coin  guineas,  but  in  proportion  as  he 
has  gold.” 

Though  Chatterton  had  been  long  dead  when  Johnson  be- 
gan his  “ Lives  of  the  Poets,” — though  Chatterton’ s poems 
had  been  long  before  the  world, — though  their  contents  had 
engaged  the  literati  of  the  nation  in  controversy ; yet  would 
not  Johnson  allow  Chatterton  a place  in  those  volumes  in 
which  Pomfret  and  Yalden  were  admitted.  So  invincible 
were  his  grudging  and  surly  prejudices — enduring  long- 
deceased  genius  but  ill,  and  contemporary  genius  not  at  all. 
That  Cowper  also  had  paid  no  attention  to  Chatterton’s  writ- 
ings, “ of  which  all  Britain  rung  from  side  to  side,”  appears 
from  his  assertion  that  Burns,  whose  beautiful  compositions 
seem  to  have  been  forced  upon  his  notice,  was  the  only  poet 
since  Prior’s  time  whose  compositions  stood  in  no  need  of 
allowance  from  the  recollected  obscurity  of  birth  and  educa- 
tion. He  must  have  heard  of  Chatterton,  and  if  he  wanted 
all  generous  curiosity  to  look  into  his  verses,  he  had  no  right 
to  make  such  an  assertion,  disgraceful  to  himself,  and  unjust 
to  the  greatest  genius,  his  early  extinction  considered,  which 
•erhaps  the  world  ever  proiuced. — Anna  Seward. 


144 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Long  in  the  literary  world  unknown 
To  all  but  scribbling  blockheads  of  its  own, 

That  Dr.  Johnson,  however,  was  not  uninterested  in  the 
discussion  respecting  the  authenticity  of  the  Rowley  poems, 
will  appear  from  the  following  extract  from  his  life  by  Bos- 
well. 

“ On  Monday,  April  29th,  Johnson  and  I made  an  excursion 
to  Bristol,  where  I was  entertained  by  seeing  him  inquire, 
upon  the  spot,  into  the  authenticity  of  Rowley’s  poetry,  as  I 
had  seen  him  inquire,  upon  the  spot,  into  the  authenticity  of 
Ossian’s  poetry.  George  Catcott,  the  pewterer,  who  was  as 
zealous  for  Rowley  as  Dr.  Hugh  Blair  was  for  Ossian,  (I  trust 
my  reverend  friend  will  excuse  the  comparison,)  attended  us 
at  our  inn,  and  with  a triumphant  air  of  lively  simplicity 
cried  out,  ‘ I’ll  make  Dr.  Johnson  a convert.’  Dr.  Johnson, 
at  his  desire,  read  aloud  some  of  Chatterton’s  fabricated 
verses,  while  Catcott  stood  at  the  back  of  his  chair,  moving 
himself  like  a pendulum,  and  beating  time  with  his  feet,  and 
now  and  then  looking  into  Dr.  Johnson’s  face,  wondering 
that  he  was  not  yet  convinced.  We  called  on  Mr.  Barrett, 
the  surgeon,  and  saw  some  of  the  originals^  as  they  were 
called,  which  were  executed  very  artificially;  but  from  a 
careful  inspection  of  them,  and  a consideration  of  the  cir- 
cumstances with  which  they  were  attended,  we  were  quite 
satisfied  of  the  imposture,  which  indeed  has  been  clearly  de- 
monstrated, from  internal  evidence,  by  several  able  critics. — 
Honest  Catcott  seemed  to  pay  no  attention  whatever  to  any 
objections,  but  insisted,  as  an  end  of  all  controversy,  that  we 
should  go  with  him  to  the  tower  of  the  church  of  St.  Mary 
Redcliff,  and  ‘ view  with  our  own  eyes,’  the  ancient  chest,  in 
which  the  ancient  manuscripts  were  found.  To  this  Dr. 
Johnson  good-naturedly  agreed ; and  though  troubled  with 
a shortness  of  breathing,  laboured  up  a long  flight  of  steps 
till  we  came  to  the  place  where  the  wonderful  chest  stood 
‘ There,’  said  Catcott,  with  a bouncing,  confident  credulity 
there  is  the  very  chest  itself.’  After  this  ocul  ir  demonstra- 
Uon  there  was  no  more  to  be  said.  He  brought  to  my  recol 


THE  WHORE  OF  BABYLON. 


145 


Then  only  introduc’d  (unhappy  fate) 

The  subject  of  a satire’s  deadly  hate  ; 

Whilst  equally  the  butt  of  ridicule, 

The  town  was  dirty,  and  the  bard  a fool. 

If  from  this  place,  where  catamites  are  found 
I’o  swarm  like  Scotchmen  Sawney’s  shade  around, 
I jnay  presume  to  exercise  the  pen. 

And  write  a greeting  to  the  best  of  men ; 

Health  is  the  ruling  minister  I send. 

Nor  has  the  minister  a better  friend : 

Greater  perhaps  in  titles,  pensions,  place. 

He  inconsiderately  prefers  his  Grace. 

Ah^  North  ! a humbler  bard  is  better  far — 
Friendship  was  never  found  near  Grafton’s  star ; 
Bishops  are  not  by  office  orthodox  ; 

Who’d  wear  a title  when  they’d  titled  Fox  ? 

Nor  does  the  honorary  shame  stop  here — 

Have  we  not  Weymouth,  Barrington,  and  Clare? 
If  noble  murders,  as  in  tale  we’re  told. 

Made  heroes  of  the  ministers  of  old  ; 

If  noble  murders,  Barrington’s  divine. 

His  merit  claims  the  laureated  line  : 

lection  a Scotch  Highlander,  a man  of  learning  too,  and  who 
had  seen  the  world,  attesting  and  at  the  same  time  giving  his 
reasons  for  the  authenticity  of  Fingal:  ‘I  have  heard  all 
that  poem  when  I was  young.*  ‘ Have  you,  sir  ? Pray  what 
have  you  heard?*  ‘ I have  heard  Ossian,  Oscar,  and  every 
me  of  tJiem.^ 

“Johnson  said  of  Chatterton,  ‘ this  is  the  most  extraordi- 
nary young  man  that  has  encountered  my  knowledge.  It  is 
ivonderful  how  the  whelp  has  written  such  things.*  ” — Bos- 
Vell’s  Johnson. 

VOL.  1.  ( 10 


146 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Let  officers  of  train  bands  wisely  try 
To  save  the  blood  of  citizens,  and  fly. 

When  some  bold  urchin  beats  his  drum  in  sport, 
Our  tragic  trumpets  entertain  the  court ; 

The  captain  flies  thro’  ev’ry  street  in  town, 

And  safe  from  dangers  wears  his  civic  crown ; 
Our  noble  secretary  scorn’d  to  run. 

But  with  his  magic  wand  discharg’d  his  gun : 

I leave  him  to  the  comforts  of  his  breast. 

And  midnight  ghosts  to  howl  him  into  rest. 
Health  to  the  instruments  of  Bute,  the  tool 
Who  with  the  little  vulgar  seems  to  rule ! 

But  since  the  wiser  maxims  of  the  age 
Mark  for  a Neddy  Ptolemy  the  sage. 

Since  Newton  and  Copernicus  have  taught 
Our  blundering  senses  are  alone  in  fault. 

The  wise  look  further,  and  the  wise  can  see 
The  hand  of  Sawney  actuating  thee ; 

The  clock-work  of  thy  conscience  turns  about, 
Just  as  his  mandates  wind  thee  in  and  out. 

By  his  political  machine  my  rhymes 
Conceive  an  estimation  of  the  times. 

And  as  the  wheels  of  state  in  measures  move, 
See  how  time  passes  in  the  world  above. 

While  tott’ring  on  the  slipp’ry  age  of  doubt 
Sir  Fletcher  sees  his  train  bands  flying  out, 
Thinks  the  minority,  acquiring  state. 

Will  undergo  a change,  and  soon  be  great. 

North  issues  out  his  hundred  to  the  crew, 

Who  catch  the  atoms  of  the  golden  dew. 


Tin:  WHORE  OF  BABYLON. 


147 


riie  etiquette  of  wise  Sir  Robert  takes 
The  doubtful,  stands  resolv’d,  and  one  forsakes. 
He  shackles  ev’ry  vote  in  golden  chains. 

And  Johnson  in  his  list  of  slaves  maintains. 

Rest,  Johnson,  hapless  spirit,  rest  and  drink. 

No  more  defile  thy  claret-glass  with  ink. 

In  quiet  sleep  repose  thy  heavy  head, 

***** 
Administration  will  defend  thy  fame. 

And  pensions  add  importance  to  thy  name  : 

When  sovereign  judgment  owns  thy  work  divine, 
And  ev’ry  writer  of  reviews  is  thine. 

Let  busy  Kenrick  vent  his  little  spleen. 

And  spit  his  venom  in  a magazine. 

Health  to  the  minister ! nor  will  I dare 
To  pour  out  flatt’ry  in  his  noble  ear : 

His  virtue,  stoically  great,  disdains 
Smooth  adulation’s  entertaining  strains, 

And,  red  with  virgin  modesty,  withdraws 
From  wondering  crowds  and  murmurs  of  applause, 
Here  let  no  disappointed  rhymer  say. 

Because  his  virtue  shuns  the  glare  of  day, 

And,  like  the  conscience  of  a Bristol  dean. 

Is  never  by  the  subtlest  optic  seen, 

That  virtue  is  with  North  a priestish  jest, 

By  which  a mere  nonentity’s  expresh 
No — North  is  strictly  virtuous,  pious,  wise, 

As  ev’ry  pension’d  Johnson  testifies. 

But,  reader,  I had  rather  you  should  see 
His  virtues  in  another  than  in  me. 


148 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Bear  witness,  Bristol,  nobly  prove  that  I, 
From  thee  or  North  was  never  paid  to  lie. 
Health  to  the  minister ! his  vices  known, 

(As  every  lord  has  vices  of  his  own, 

And  all  who  wear  a title  think  to  shine 
In  forging  follies  foreign  to  his  line) — 

His  vices  shall  employ  my  ablest  pen. 

And  mark  him  out  a miracle  of  men. 

Then  let  the  muse  the  lashing  strain  begin, 
And  mark  repentance  upon  every  sin. 

Why  this  recoil  ? and  will  the  dauntless  muse 
To  lash  a minister  of  state  refuse  ? 

What ! is  his  soul  so  black  thou  canst  not  find 
Aught  like  a human  virtue  in  his  mind  ? 

Then  draw  him  so,  and  to  the  public  tell 
Who  owns  this  representative  of  hell. 
Administration  lifts  her  iron  chain. 

And  Truth  must  abdicate  her  lawful  strain. 
Oh  Prudence  ! if  by  friends  or  counsel  sway’d 
I had  thy  saving  institutes  obey’d. 

And,  lost  to  every  love  but  love  of  self, 

A wretch  like  Harris  living  but  in  pelf. 

Then  happy  in  a coach  or  turtle  feast, 

I might  have  been  an  alderman  at  least. 

Sage  are  the  arguments  by  which  I’m  taught 
To  curb  the  wild  excursive  flights  of  thought. 
Let  Harris  wear  his  self-sufficient  air. 

Nor  dare  remark,  for  Harris  is  a mayor ; 

If  Catcott’s  flimsy  system  can’t  be  prov’d. 

Let  it  alone,  for  Catcott ’s  much  belov’d. 


THE  WHORE  OF  BABTLON. 


149 


If  B — ry  ^ bought  a Bacon  for  a Strange, 

The  man  has  credit,  and  is  great  on  ’Change. 
If  Camplin  ungrammatically  spoke, 

’Tis  dang’rous  on  such  men  to  pass  a joke. 

If  you  from  satire  can  withhold  the  line, 

At  every  public  hall  perhaps  you’ll  dine. 

I must  confess,  rejoins  a prudent  sage. 

You’re  really  something  clever  for  your  age  : 
Your  lines  have  sentiment,  and  now  and  then 
A lash  of  satire  stumbles  from  your  pen. 

But  ah ! that  satire  is  a dangerous  thing. 

And  often  wounds  the  writer  with  its  sting 
Your  infant  muse  should  sport  with  other  toys, 
Men  will  not  bear  the  ridicule  of  boys. 

Some  of  the  aldermen,  (for  some  indeed 
For  want  of  education  cannot  read. 

And  those  who  can,  when  they  aloud  rehearse 
What  Fowler,  happy  genius,  titles  verse. 

To  spin  the  strains  sonorous  thro’  the  nose. 
The  reader  cannot  call  it  verse  or  prose)  — 
Some  of  the  aldermen  may  take  offence 
At  my  maintaining  them  devoid  of  sense  ; 

And  if  you  touch  their  aldermanic  pride. 

Bid  dark  reflection  tell  how  Savage  died. 
Besides  the  town,  the  sober  honest  town. 

Gives  virtue  her  desert,  and  vice  her  frown  ; 
Bids  censure  brand  with  infamy  your  name — * 

I,  even  I,  must  think  you  are  to  blame. 


^ Burgum,  in  Kbw  Gardens. 


150 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Is  there  a street  within  this  spacious  place 
That  boasts  the  happiness  of  one  fair  face, 
Where  conversation  does  not  turn  on  you, 
Blaming  your  wild  amours,  your  morals  too  ? 
Oaths,  sacred  and  tremendous  oaths  you  swear, 
Oaths  that  might  shock  a Luttrelfs  soul  to  hear  ; 
These  very  oaths,  as  if  a thing  of  joke. 

Made  to  betray,  intended  to  be  broke. 

Whilst  the  too  tender  and  believing  maid 
(Remember  pretty  Fanny)  is  betray’d. 

Then  your  religion — ah  ! beware,  beware, 
Although  a deist  is  no  monster  here. 

Yet  hide  your  tenets — priests  are  powerful  foes. 
And  priesthood  fetters  justice  by  the  nose. 

Think  not  the  merit  of  a jingling  song 
Can  countenance  the  author’s  acting  wrong : 
Reform  your  manners,  and  with  solemn  air 
Hear  Catcott  bray,  and  Robins  squeak  in  pray’r. 
Honour  the  scarlet  robe,  and  let  the  quill 
Be  silent  when  his  worship  eats  his  fill. 

Regard  thy  int’rest,  ever  love  thyself ; 

Rise  into  notice  as  you  rise  in  pelf. 

The  muses  have  no  credit  here,  and  fame 
Confines  itself  to  the  mercantile  name. 

Then  clip  Imagination’s  wing — be  wise. 

And  great  in  wealth,  (to  real  greatness  rise ;) 

Or  if  you  must  persist  to  sing  and  dream. 

Let  only  panegyric  be  your  theme  : 

Make  North  a Chatham,  canonize  his  grace, 

And  get  a pension,  or  procure  a place. 


THE  WHORE  OF  BABYLON. 


151 


Damn’d  narrow  notions  ! tending  to  disgrace 
The  boasted  reason  of  the  human  race. 

Bristol  may.  keep  her  prudent  maxims  still, 
But  know,  my  saving  friends,  I never  will. 
The  composition  of  my  soul  is  made 
Too  great  for  servile,  avaricious  trade ; 

When  raving  in  the  lunacy  of  ink 
I catch  the  pen,  and  publish  what  I think. 
North  is  a creature,  and  the  king ’s  misled ; 
Mansfield  and  Norton  came  as  justice  fled ; 

F ew  of  our  ministers  are  over  wise  : — 

Old  Harpagon ’s  a cheat,  and  Taylor  lies. 
When  cooler  judgment  actuates  my  brain, 

My  cooler  judgment  still  approves  the  strain  ; 
And  if  a horrid  picture  greets  your  view, 
There  it  continues  still,  if  copied  true. 

Though  in  the  double  infamy  of  lawn 
The  future  bishopric  of  Barton’s  drawn, 
Protect  me,  fair  ones,  if  I durst  engage 
To  serve  ye  in  this  catamitish  age. 

To  exercise  a passion  banish’d  hence. 

And  summon  satire  in  to  your  defence. 
Woman,  of  ev’ry  happiness  the  best, 

Is  all  my  heaven, — religion  is  a jest. 

Nor  shall  the  muse  in  any  future  book 
With  awe  upon  the  chains  of  favour  look  : 
North  shall  in  all  his  vices  be  display’d. 

And  Warburton  in  lively  pride  array’d  ; 
Sandwich  shall  undergo  the  healing  lash, 

A-ud  read  his  character  without  a dash ; 


152 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Mansfield,  surrounded  by  his  dogs  of  law, 

Shall  see  his  picture  drawn  in  ev’ry  flaw ; 
Luttrell  (if  satire  can  descend  so  low) 

Shall  all  his  native  little  vices  show ; 

And  Grafton,  tho’  prudentially  resign’d, 

Shall  view  a striking  copy  of  his  mind ; 

Whilst  iron  Justice,  lifting  up  her  scales, 

ShaL  weigh  the  Princess  Dowager  of  Wales. 

Finis.  Book  the  First, 


ELEGY 

ON  THE  DEATH  OP  MR.  JOHN  TANDEY,  SENR. 

A sincere  Christian  Friend.  He  died  5th  January,  1769 
aged  76. 


I. 

Ye  virgins  of  the  sacred  choir, 

Awake  the  soul-dissolving  lyre, 

Begin  the  mournful  strain ; 

To  deck  the  much-lov’d  Tandeifs  urn. 
Let  the  poetic  genius  burn. 

And  all  Parnassus  drain. 


II. 

Ye  ghosts  ! that  leave  the  silent  tomb. 
To  wander  in  the  midnight  gloom. 
Unseen  by  mortal  eye  ; 


ELEGY. 


153 


Garlands  of  yew  and  cypress  bring, 
Adorn  his  tomb,  his  praises  sing, 

And  swell  the  gen’ral  sigh. 

III. 

Ye  wretches,  who  could  scarcely  save 
Your  starving  offspring  from  the  gravs^ 
By  God  afflicted  sore. 

Vent  the  big  tear,  the  soul-felt  sigh. 
And  swell  your  meagre  infant’s  cry, 

For  Tandey  is  no  more. 


IV. 

To  you  his  charity  he  dealt. 

His  melting  soul  your  miseries  felt, 
And  made  your  woes  his  own : 

A common  friend  to  all  mankind. 
His  face  the  index  of  his  mind. 
Where  all  the  saint  was  shown. 


V. 

In  him  the  social  virtues  join’d. 

His  judgment  sound,  his  sense  refin’d. 
His  actions  ever  just — 

Who  can  suppress  the  rising  sigh. 

To  think  such  saint-like  men  must  die, 
And  mix  with  common  dust. 


VI. 

Had  virtue  pow’r  from  death  to  save, 

The  good  man  ne’er  would  see  the  grave, 


154 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


But  live  immortal  here  : 

Hawksworth  and  Tandey  are  no  more  ; 
Lament,  ye  virtuous  and  ye  poor, 

And  drop  the  unfeigned  tear. 


N.  B. — The  above-mentioned  gentleman  was  a man  of  un- 
blemished character;  and  father-in-law  to  Mr.  William  Bar- 
rett, author  of  the  History  of  Bristol;  and  lies  interred  in 
RedclifF  church,  in  the  same  vault  with  Mr.  Barrett’s  wife. — 
The  Elegy  would  have  been  inserted  in  one  of  the  Bristo. 
lournals,  but  was  suppressed  at  the  particular  request  of  Mr 
Tandey’s  eldest  son. — Note  by  Chatterton 


TO  A FRIEND, 

ON  HIS  INTENDED  MARRIAGE. 


I. 

Marriage,  dear  M , is  a serious  thing  ; 

^Tis  proper  every  man  should  think  it  so : 
^Twill  either  ev’ry  human  blessing  bring, 

Or  load  thee  with  a settlement  of  woe. 


II. 

Sometimes  indeed  it  is  a middle  state, 
Neither  supremely  blest,  nor  deeply  curst ; 
A stagnant  pool  of  life  ; a dream  of  fate— 
In  my  opinion,  of  all  states  the  worst. 


TO  A FRIEND. 


155 


III. 

Observe  the  partner  of  thy  future  state : 

If  no  strong  vice  is  stamp’d  upon  her  mind, 
Take  her ; and  let  her  ease  thy  am’rous  pain : 
A little  error  proves  her  human-kind. 


IV. 

W'hat  we  call  vices  are  not  always  such ; 

Some  virtues  scarce  deserve  the  sacred  name ; 
Thy  wife  may  love,  as  well  as  pray  too  much, 
And  to  another  stretch  her  rising  flame. 


V. 

Choose  no  religionist ; whose  every  day 
Is  lost  to  thee  and  thine — to  none  a friend  : 
Know  too,  when  pleasure  calls  the  heart  astray, 
The  warmest  zealot  is  the  blackest  fiend. 


VI. 

Let  not  the  fortune  first  engross  thy  care. 

Let  it  a second  estimation  hold ; 

A Smithfield-marriage  is  of  pleasures  bare, 

And  love,  without  the  purse,  will  soon  grow  cold. 

VII. 

Marry  no  letter’d  damsel,  whose  wise  head 
May  prove  it  just  to  graft  the  horns  on  thine  : 
Marry  no  idiot,  keep  her  from  thy  bed — 

What  the  brains  want  will  often  elsewhere  shina 


156 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


VIII. 

A disposition  good,  a judgment  sound, 

Will  bring  substantial  pleasures  in  a wife : 

Whilst  love  and  tenderness  in  thee  are  found. 
Happy  and  calm  will  be  the  married  life. 

Thomas  Chatterton. 


ON  THOMAS  PHILLIPS’S  DEATH. 

To  Clayfield,  long  renown’d  the  Muses’  friend. 
Presuming  on  his  goodness,  this  I send ; 
Unknown  to  you,  tranquillity  and  fame. 

In  this  address  perhaps  I am  to  blame. 

This  rudeness  let  necessity  excuse. 

And  anxious  friendship  for  a much-lov’d  muse. 
Twice  have  the  circling  hours  unveil’d  the  east, 
Since  horror  found  me  and  all  pleasure  ceas’d  ; 
Since  ev’ry  number  tended  to  deplore  ; 

Since  fame  asserted,  Phillips  was  no  more. 

Say,  is  he  mansion’d  in  his  native  spheres  ? 

Or  is’t  a vapor  that  exhales  in  tears  ! 

Swift  as  idea  rid  me  of  my  pain. 

And  let  my  dubious  wretchedness  be  plain. 


FABLES  FOR  THE  COURT. 


157 


[t  is  too  true ; the  awful  lyre  is  strung, 

His  elegy  the  sister  muses  sung. 

0 may  he  live,  and  useless  be  the  strain  ! 
Fly,  generous  Clayfield,  rid  me  of  my  pain. 
Forgive  my  boldness,  think  the  urgent  cause, 
And  who  can  bind  necessity  with  laws : 

1 wait  the  admirer  of  your  noble  parts. 

You,  friend  to  genius,  sciences,  and  arts. 


FABLES  FOR  THE  COURT.' 

A.DDRESSED  TO  MR.  MICHAEL  CLAYFIELD,  OF 
BRISTOL. 

THE  SHEPHERDS. 

Morals,  as  critics  must  allow. 

Are  almost  out  of  fashion  now ; 

And  if  we  credit  Dodsley’s  word. 

All  applications  are  absurd. 

What  has  the  author  to  be  vain  in 
Who  knows  his  fable  wants  explaining. 

And  substitutes  a second  scene 
To  publish  what  the  first  should  mean  ? 

1 Transcribed  by  Mr.  Catcott,  Oct  19,  1796,  from  Chat 
terton’s  MS. 


168  ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 

Besides,  it  saucily  reflects 
Upon  the  reader’s  intellects. 

When  arm’d  in  metaphors  and  dashes, 
The  bard  some  noble  villain  lashes, 
’Tis  a direct  affront,  no  doubt. 

To  think  he  cannot  find  it  out. 

The  sing-song  trifles  of  the  stage. 

The  happy  fav’rites  of  the  age. 
Without  a meaning  crawl  along. 

And,  for  a moral,  gives  a song. 

The  tragic  muse,  once  pure  and  chaste, 
Is  turn’d  a whore,  debauch’d  by  taste : 
Poor  Juliet  never  claims  the  tear 
’Till  borne  triumphant  on  the  bier ; 
And  Ammon's  son  is  never  great 
’Till  seated  in  his  chair  of  state. 

And  yet  the  harlot  scarce  goes  down, 
She’s  been  so  long  upon  the  town, 

Her  morals  never  can  be  seen. 

Not  rigid  Johnson  seems  to  mean, 

A tittering  epilogue  contains 
The  cobweb  of  a poet’s  brains. 

If  what  the  muse  prepares  to  write 
To  entertain  the  public  sight. 

Should  in  its  characters  be  known, 

The  knowledge  is  the  reader’s  own. 
When  villainy  and  vices  shine, 

You  won’t  find  Sandwich  in  the  line ; 
When  little  rascals  rise  to  fame. 

Sir  Fletcher  cannot  read  his  name ; 


FABLES  FOR  THE  COURT. 


159 


Nor  will  the  muse  digi’essive  run, 

To  call  the  king  his  mother’s  son, 

But  plodding  on  the  beaten  way, 

With  honest  North  prepares  the  lay : 
And  should  the  meaning  figures  please 
The  dull  reviews  of  laughing  ease. 

No  politician  can  dispute 
My  knowledge  of  the  Earl  of  Bute. 

A flock  of  sheep,  no  matter  where, 

Was  all  an  aged  shepherd’s  care; 

His  dogs  were  watchful,  and  he  took 
Upon  himself  the  ruling  crook : 

His  boys  who  wattled  in  the  fold 
Were  never  bought  and  never  sold. 

’Tis  true,  by  strange  affection  led. 

He  visited  a turnip  bed ; 

And,  fearful  of  a winter  storm. 
Employ’d  his  wool  to  keep  it  warm  ; 
But  that  comparatively  set 
Against  the  present  heavy  debt, 

Was  but  a trifling  piece  of  state. 

And  hardly  make  a villain  great. 

The  shepherd  died the  dreadful  toll 

Entreated  masses  for  his  soul. 

The  pious  bosom  and  the  back 
Shone  in  the  farce  of  courtly  black. 
The  weeping  Laureate’s  ready  pen 
Lamented  o’er  the  best  of  men  ; 

And  Oxford  sent  her  load  of  rhyme 


IGO 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


In  all  varieties  of  chime, 

Administering  due  consolation, 

Well  seasoned  with  congratulation. 
Cambridge  her  ancient  lumber  wrote. 
And  what  could  Cambridge  do  but  quote 
All  sung,  tho’  very  few  could  read, 

And  none  but  mercers  mourn’d  indeed. 
The  younger  shepherd  caught  the  crook. 
And  was  a monarch  in  his  look. 

The  flock  rejoic’d,  and  could  no  less 
Than  pay  their  duty  and  address  ; 

And  Edinburgh  was  heard  to  sing 
Now  heaven  be  prais’d  for  such  a king. 
All  join’d  in  joy  and  expectation. 

And  union  echoed  thro’  the  nation. 

A council  call’d * * * 


FRAGMENT. 

Int’rest,  thou  universal  God  of  men, 

Wait  on  the  couplet  and  reprove  the  pen  ; 

If  aught  unwelcome  to  thy  ears  shall  rise, 
Hold  jails  and  famine  to  the  poet’s  eyes. 

Bid  satire  sheath  her  sharp  avenging  steel, 
And  lose  a number  rather  than  a meal. 

Nay,  prithee,  honour,  do  not  make  us  mad, 
VVhen  I am  hungry  something  must  be  had  ; 


FRAGMENT. 


]GJ 


Can  honest  consciousness  of  doing  right 
Provide  a dinner  or  a bed  at  night? 

What  though  Astrea  decks  mj  soul  in  gold, 

My  mortal  lumber  trembles  with  the  cold, 

Then,  curst  tormentor  of  my  peace,  begone  ! 
Flattery’s  a cloak,  and  I will  put  it  on. 

In  a low  cottage  shaking  with  the  wind, 

A door  in  front,  a span  of  light  behind, 

Tervono’s  lungs  their  mystic  play  began. 

And  nature  in  the  infant  mark’d  the  man. 

Six  times  the  youth  of  morn,  the  golden  sun. 
Through  the  twelve  stages  of  his  course  had  run, 
Tervono  rose,  the  merchant  of  the  plain. 

His  soul  was  traffic,  his  elysium  gain ; 

The  ragged  chapman  found  his  word  a law. 

And  lost  in  barter  every  fav’rite  Taw. 

Through  various  scenes  Tervono  still  ascends, 
And  still  is  making,  still  forgetting  friends  ; 

Full  of  this  maxim,  often  heard  in  trade. 
Friendship  with  none  but  equals  should  be  made. 
His  soul  is  all  the  merchant.  None  can  find 
The  shadow  of  a virtue  in  his  mind. 

Nor  are  his  vices  reason  misapplied  ; 

Mean  as  his  spirit,  sneaking  as  his  pride. 

At  city  dinner,  or  a turtle  feast. 

As  expeditious  as  a hungry  priest  : 

No  foe  to  Bacchanalian  brutal  rites. 

In  vile  confusion  dozing  off  the  nights. 

Tervono  would  be  flatter’d  ; shall  I then 
In  stigmatizing  satire  shake  the  pen  ? 

VOL.  I.  11 


1G2 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Muse,  for  his  brow,  the  laurel  wreath  prepare, 
Though  soon  ’twill  wither  when  ’tis  planted  there, 
Come  panegyric ; adulation  haste. 

And  sing  this  wonder  of  mercantile  taste ; 

And  whilst  his  virtue  rises  in  my  lines. 

The  patron’s  happy,  and  the  poet  dines. 

Some,  philosophically  cas’d  in  steel. 

Can  neither  poverty  nor  hunger  feel ; 

But  that  is  not  my  case ; the  muses  know 
What  water-gruel  stuff  from  Phoebus  flow. 

Then  if  the  rage  of  satire  seize  my  brain. 

May  none  but  brother  poets  meet  the  strain  ; 
May  bulky  aldermen  nor  vicars  rise. 

Hung  in  terrorem  to  their  brothers’  eyes. 

When  lost  in  trance  by  gospel  or  by  law. 

In  to  their  inward  room  the  senses  draw. 

There  as  they  snore  in  consultation  deep, 

Are  by  the  vulgar  reckon’d  fast  asleep. 


ELEGr,  WRITTEN  AT  STANTON-DREW 

Joyless  I hail  the  solemn  gloom, 

Joyless  I view  the  pillars  vast  and  rude 
Wliere  erst  the  fool  of  superstition  trod. 

In  smoking  blood  imbrued. 

And  rising  from  the  tomb, 


ELEGY. 


1G3 


Mistaken  homage  to  an  unknown  God. 

Fancy,  whither  dost  thou  stray, 

Whither  dost  thou  wing  thy  way — 

Check  the  rising  wild  delight. 

All ! what  avails  this  awful  sight, 

Maria  is  no  more ! 

Why  curst  remembrance  wilt  thou  haunt  my 
mind, 

The  blessings  past  are  mis’ry  now, 

Upon  her  lovely  brow 
Her  lovelier  soul  she  wore. 

Soft  as  the  evening  gale 

When  breathing  perfumes  thro’  the  rose-hedged 
vale. 

She  was  my  joy,  my  happiness  refin’d. 

All  hail  ye  solemn  horrors  of  this  scene. 
The  blasted  oak,  the  dusky  green. 

Ye  dreary  altars  by  whose  side 
The  druid  priest  in  crimson  dyed. 

The  solemn  dirges  sung. 

And  drove  the  golden  knife 
Into  the  palpitating  seat  of  life. 

When  rent  with  horrid  shouts  the  distant  valleys 
rung. 

The  bleeding  body  bends,  v. 

The  glowing  purple  stream  ascends. 
Whilst  the  troubled  spirit  near 
Hovers  in  the  steamy  air. 

Again  the  sacred  dirge  they  sing. 

Again  the  distant  hill  and  coppice  valley  ring. 


IG‘1:  ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 

Soul  of  my  dear  Maria  haste, 
Whilst  my  languid  spirits  waste, 
When  from  this  my  prison  free, 
Catch  my  soul,  it  flies  to  thee  ; 
Death  had  doubly  arm’d  his  dart. 

In  piercing  thee  it  pierc’d  my  heart. 


XI. 


THE  EOMANCE  OF  THE  KNIGHT. 

MODERNIZED  BY  CHATTERTON.^ 

From  “ The  Romaunte  of  the  Cnyyhte  by  John  de  Bergham,' 

The  pleasing  sweets  of  spring  and  summer  past, 
The  falling  leaf  flies  in  the  sultry  blast, 

The  fields  resign  their  spangling  orbs  of  gold. 
The  wrinkled  grass  its  silver  joys  unfold, 
Mantling  the  spreading  moor  in  heavenly  white, 
Meeting  from  every  hill  the  ravish’d  sight. 

The  yellow  flag  uprears  its  spotted  head. 
Hanging  regardant  o’er  its  wat’ry  bed ; 

The  worthy  knight  ascends  his  foaming  steed, 

Of  size  uncommon,  and  no  common  breed. 


1 See  “ Rowley  Poems,”  page  246,  and  note. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  KNIGHT.  165 

His  sword  of  giant  make  hangs  from  his  belt, 
Whose  piercing  edge  his  daring  foes  had  felt. 

To  seek  for  glory  and  renown  he  goes 
To  scatter  death  among  his  trembling  foes ; 
Unnerved  by  fear  they  trembled  at  his  stroke ; 

So  cutting  blasts  shake  the  tall  mountain  oak. 

Down  in  a dark  and  solitary  vale 

Where  the  curst  screech-owl  sings  her  fatal  tale, 

Where  copse  and  brambles  interwoven  lie. 

Where  trees  entwining  arch  the  azure  sky, 
Thither  the  fate-mark’d  champion  bent  his  way, 
By  purling  streams  to  lose  the  heat  of  day ; 

A sudden  cry  assaults  his  listening  ear. 

His  soufs  too  noble  to  admit  of  fear. — 

The  cry  re-echoes  ; with  his  bounding  steed 
He  gropes  the  way  from  whence  the  cries  proceed. 
The  arching  trees  above  obscur’d  the  light. 

Here  ’twas  all  evening,  there  eternal  night. 

And  now  the  rustling  leaves  and  strengthened  cry 
Bespeaks  the  cause  of  the  confusion  nigh ; 
Through  the  thick  brake  the  astonish’d  champion 
sees 

A weeping  damsel  bending  on  her  knees : 

A ruffian  knyght  would  force  her  to  the  ground, 
But  still  some  small  resisting  strength  she  found. 
(Women  and  cats,  if  you  compulsion  use. 

The  pleasure  which  they  die  for  will  refuse.) 

The  champion  thus : Desist,  discourteous  knight, 
Why  dost  thou  shamefully  misuse  thy  mighte. 


166 


A.CKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


With  eye  contemptuous  thus  the  knight  replies, 
Begone ! whoever  dares  my  fury  dies. 

Down  to  the  ground  the  champion’s  gauntlet  flew 
I dare  thy  fury,  and  I’ll  prove  it  too. 

Like  two  fierce  mountain  boars  enraged  they  fly, 
The  prancing  steeds  make  Echo  rend  the  sky. 
Like  a fierce  tempest  is  the  bloody  fight. 

Dead  from  his  lofty  steed  falls  the  proud  ruffian 
knight 

The  victor,  sadly  pleas’d,  accosts  the  dame, 

I will  convey  you  hence  to  whence  you  came. 
With  look  of  gratitude  the  fair  replied 
Content ; I in  your  virtue  may  confide. 

But,  said  the  fair,  as  mournful  she  survey’d 
The  breathless  corse  upon  the  meadow  laid. 

May  all  thy  sins  from  Heaven  forgiveness  find ! 
May  not  thy  body’s  crimes  affect  thy  mind ! 


it. 


V. 


SUNDAY.  A FRAGMENT. 

Hervenis,  harping  on  the  hackney’d  text. 
By  disquisitions  is  so  sore  perplex’d. 

He  stammers, — instantaneously  is  drawn 
A bordered  piece  of  inspiration  lawn, 


SUNDAY. 


167 


being  thrice  unto  his  nose  apply’d, 

Into  his  pineal  gland  the  vapours  glide  ; 

And  now  again  we  hear  the  doctor  roar 
On  subjects  he  dissected  thrice  before. 

I own  at  church  I very  seldom  pray, 

For  vicars,  strangers  to  devotion,  bray. 

Sermons  though  flowing  from  the  sacred  lawn, 
Are  flimsy  wires  from  reason’s  ingot  drawn  ; 

And  to  confess  the  truth,  another  cause 
My  every  prayer  and  adoration  draws : 

In  all  the  glaring  tinctures  of  the  bow. 

The  ladies  front  me  in  celestial  row  ; 

(Tho’  when  black  melancholy  damps  my  joys, 

I call  them  nature’s  trifles,  airy  toys ; 

Yet  when  the  goddess  Reason  guides  the  strain, 

I think  them,  what  they  are,  a heavenly  train ;) 
The  amorous  rolling,  the  black  sparkling  eye, 

The  gentle  hazle,  and  the  optic  sly ; 

The  easy  shape,  the  panting  semi-globes. 

The  frankness  which  each  latent  charm  disrobes  ; 
The  melting  passions,  and  the  sweet  severe. 

The  easy  amble,  the  majestic  air ; 

The  tap’ring  waste,  the  silver-mantled  arms, 

All  is  one  vast  variety  of  charms. 

Say,  who  but  sages  stretch’d  beyond  their 
span, 

’Italian  singers,  or  an  unman’d  man, 

Can  see  elysium  spread  upon  their  brow, 

And  to  a drowsy  curate’s  sermon  bow  ? 


IG8 


ACKN0WLE1>GED  POEMS. 


If  (but  ’tis  seldom)  no  fair  female  face 
Attracts  my  notice  by  some  glowing  grace> 
Around  the  monuments  I cast  my  eyes, 

And  see  absurdities  and  nonsense  rise. 

Here  rueful-visag’d  angels  seem  to  tell 
With  weeping  eyes,  a soul  is  gone  to  hell ; 

There  a child’s  head  supported  by  duck’s  wings, 
With  toothless  mouth  a hallelujah  sings : 

In  fun’ral  pile  eternal  marble  burns, 

And  a good  Christian  seems  to  sleep  in  urns. 

A self-drawn  curtain  bids  the  reader  see 
An  honourable  Welchman’s  pedigree  ; 

A rock  of  porph’ry  darkens  half  the  place, 

And  virtues  blubber  with  no  awkward  grace ; 
Yet,  strange  to  tell,  in  all  the  dreary  gloom 
That  makes  the  sacred  honours  of  the  tomb, 

No  quarter’d  coats  above  the  bell  appear, 

No  batter’d  arms,  or  golden  corsets  there. 


THE  REVENGE.1 


A BUKLETTA; 

Acted  at  Marylebone  Gardens^  1770,  with  additional  Songs* 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Jupiter Mr.  Reinhold. 

Bacchus Mr.  Bannister. 

Cupid Master  Cheney. 

Juno Mrs.  Thompson. 


Act  I — Scene  L 

JUPITER. 

Recitative* 

I SWEAR  by  Styx,  the  usage  is  past  bearing ; 
My  lady  Juno  ranting,  tearing,  swearing ! 

1 Among  the  MSS.  of  Chatterton  in  the  British  Museum, 
there  is  the  first  outline  of  thi§  Burletta  under  the  title  of 
Amphitryon,”  the  dramatis  persorm  of  which  are  as  fol- 
lows : Celestials^  Jupiter,  Mercury,  Juno,  Nox. — MortaU. 


170 


ACKNOWLEDGED  TOEMS. 


Why,  what  the  devil  will  my  godship  do, 

If  blows  and  thunder  cannot  tame  a shrew  ? 

Air, 

Tho’  the  loud  thunder  rumbles, 

Tho’  storms  rend  the  sky ; 

Yet  louder  she  grumbles, 

And  swells  the  sharp  cry. 

Her  jealousy  teasing, 

Disgusting  her  form : 

Her  music  as  pleasing 
As  pigs  in  a storm. 

I fly  her  embraces, 

To  wenches  more  fair ; 

And  leave  her  wry  faces, 

Cold  sighs  and  despair. 


Recitative, 

And  oh  ! ye  tedious  minutes,  steal  away  ; 

Come  evening,  close  the  folding  doors  of  day ; 

Amphitryon,  Sosia,  Phocyon,  Dorus,  Alcmena,  Phrygia.  It 
differs  in  many  instances  from  the  printer’s  text.  Chatterton 
is  said  to  have  received  five  guineas  for  “ The  Revenge,”  from 
the  Proprietor  of  Marylebone  Gardens,  when  it  was  per- 
formed in  July,  1770,  nearly  a year  after  his  death.  In 
Southey’s  edition  of  his  poems,  the  MS.  is  said  to  have  been 
lost  at  the  printing-office,  but  the  present  Editor  has  a dis- 
tinct recollection  of  having  observed  a notice  of  its  sale, 
some  six  or  seven  years  since,  for  the  sura  of  one  hundred 
\ND  FIFTY  POUNDS.  Pooi*  Chattertou  I 


THE  REVENGE. 


171 


Night,  spread  thy  sable  petticoat  around, 

And  sow  thy  poppies  on  the  slumbering  ground  ; 
Then  raving  into  love,  and  drunk  with  charms, 
rU  lose  my  Juno’s  tongue  in  Maia’s  arms. 

Air, 

Sighing, 

Dying, 

Lying, 

Frying, 

In  the  furnace  of  desire  ; 

Creeping, 

Sleeping, 

Oh  ! how  slow  the  hours  retire  ! 

When  the  busy  heart  is  beating, 

• When  the  bosom’s  all  on  fire. 

Oh  ! how  welcome  is  the  meeting  ! 

Oh ! how  slow  the  hours  retire  ! 

Recitative, 

But  see — my  Fury  comes;  by  Styx  I tremble: 
I’ll  creep  aside — ’tis  folly  to  dissemble. 


Scene  II 

JUNO,  JUPITER. 

JUNO. 

Recitative. 

See,  see,  my  good  man  steals  aside ! 
In  spite  of  his  thunder, 


172 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


I make  him  knock  under, 

And  own  the  superior  right  of  a bride. 

Air, 

How  happy  the  life 
Of  a governing  wife, 

How  charming,  how  easy,  the  swift  minutes  pass  ; 
Let  her  do  what  she  will, 

The  husband  is  still. 

And  but  for  his  horns  you  would  think  him  an  ass. 
How  happy  the  spouse 
In  his  dignified  brows ; 

How  worthy  with  heroes  and  monarchs  to  class  : 
Both  above  and  below, 

Experience  will  show. 

But  take  off*  the  horns,  and  each  husband’s  an  ass. 

Recitative.  [Asick. 

Zounds,  I’ll  take  heart  of  grace,  and  brave  her 
clapper ; 

And,  if  my  courage  holds,  egad  I’ll  strap  her : 
Thro’  all  Olympus  shall  the  thunders  roll. 

And  earth  shall  echo  to  the  mustard  bowl. 

Should  she  prove  sturdy,  by  the  Lord  I’ll  heave 
hence, 

Down  to  some  brandy  shop,  this  noisy  grievance. 


Air. 

What  means  this  horrid  rattle  ? 
And  must  tliat  tongue  of  riot 


THE  REVENGE. 


173 


Wage  one  eternal  battle 
With  happiness  and  quiet? 

JUNO. 

Air  continued, 

0 

What  means  your  saucy  question  ? 

D’ye  think  I mind  your  bluster  ? 

Your  Godship’s  always  best  in 
Words,  thunder,  noise,  and  fluster. 

JUPITER. 

Recitative. 

Hence,  thou  eternal  tempest,  from  our  regions, 
And  yell  in  concert  with  infernal  legions  : 

Hence,  or  be  calm — our  will  is  fate — away 
hence. 

Or  on  the  lightning’s  wings  you’ll  And  con- 
veyance. 


JUNO. 

Recitative, 

I brave  your  vengeance 

JUPITER. 

Oh ! ’tis  most  provoking  I 

JUNO. 

Bhould  not  my  spirit  better  my  condition, 

Tve  one  way  left Remonstrance  and  petition 

To  alJ  the  Gods  in  senate  : ’tis  no  joking — 


i74 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Air. 

I will  never  tamely  bear 
All  my  wrongs  and  slights,  sir ; 

Heaven  and  all  the  Gods  shall  hear 
How  you  spend  your  nights,  sir : 

Drinking,  swearing, 

Roanng,  tearing. 

Wenching,  roving,  everywhere  ; 

Whilst  poor  I 
At  home  must  lie. 

Wishing,  scheming. 

Sighing,  dreaming. 

Grasping  nothing  but  the  air. 

JUPITER. 

Recitative, 

0 how  shall  I escape  the  swelling  clatter — - 
ril  slit  her  tongue,  and  make  short  work  o’  th’ 
matter. 

Air. 

Fury,  cease. 

Give  me  peace, 

Still  your  racket, 

Or  your  jacket 
ril  be  drubbing. 

For  your  snubbing ; 

By  the  Gods  you  shall  knock  under. 

Must  you  ever 
Thus  endeavour 


Rumbling, 


THE  REVENGE. 


175 


Grumbling. 

Rowling, 

Growling. 

To  outsound  the  noisy  thunder  ? 

JUNO. 

Recitative.  {Aside, 

Ah ! I’m  quite  out  here — plaguily  mistaken — 
The  man ’s  in  earnest — I must  save  my  bacon ; 
Since  scolding  but  provokes  him, 

A method  I’ll  pursue. 

I’ll  soothe  him,  tickle,  coax  him, 

Then  I shall  have  my  due. 


Air. 

Ah,  cruel,  cruel  Jove, 

And  is  it  thus  a love. 

So  pure,  so  chaste,  so  strong  as  mine, 

Is  slighted,  disrespected. 

Unnoticed  and  neglected. 

Return’d  with  such  a love  as  thine  ? 

JUPITER. 

Air. 

Did  the  foolish  passion  tease  ye. 
Would  you  have  a husband  please  ye, 
Suppliant,  pliant,  am’rous,  easy  ; 
Never  rate  him  like  a fury : 

By  experience  I’ll  assure  ye. 
Kindness,  and  not  rage,  must  cure  ye. 


176 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


JUNO. 

Recitative*  \A^e» 

He’s  in  the  right  on’t — hits  it  to  a tittle — - 
But  Juno  must  display  her  tongue  a little. 

Air, 

I own  my  error,  I repent ; 

Let  thy  sparkling  eyes  behold  me, 

Let  thy  lovely  arms  enfold  me ; 

Let  thy  stubborn  heart  relent. 

JUPITER. 

Recitative, 

Egad,  why  this  is  more  than  I desire, 

’Tis  from  the  frying-pan  to  meet  the  fire ; 
Zounds,  I have  no  stomach  to  the  marriage  bed 
But  something  must  be  either  sung  or  said. 

Air. 

What  is  love  ? the  wise  despise  it ; 

’Tis  a bubble  blown  for  boys : 

Gods  and  heroes  should  not  prize  it, 

Jove  aspires  to  greater  joys. 

JUNO. 

Air  continued. 

What  is  love  ? ’tis  nature’s  treasure, 

’Tis  the  storehouse  of  her  joys ; 


THE  KEVENGE. 


177 


^Tis  the  highest  heaven  of  pleasure, 

'Tis  a bliss  which  never  cloys. 

JUPITER. 

Air  continued. 

What  is  love  ? an  air-blown  bubble, 

Only  silly  fools  receive  it : 

’Tis  a magazine  of  trouble  ; 

’Tis  but  folly thus  I leave  it. 

\Jupiter  runs  off. 


Scene  IIL 

JUNO. 


Recitative. 

Well,  he  is  gone,  and  I may  curse  my  fate. 
That  linked  my  gentle  love  to  such  a mate  ; 

He  neither  fills  my  freezing  bed,  my  heart,  nor 
My  vainly-folding  arms  : oh ! such  a partner  ! 

Air. 

When  a woman’s  tied  down 
To  a spiritless  log, 

Let  her  fondle  or  frown, 

Yet  still  he’s  a clog. 

Let  her  please  her  own  mind. 

Abroad  let  her  roam 
Abroad  she  may  find 
What  she  can’t  find  at  home. 

12 


VOL.  I. 


178 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Scene  IV, 

JUNO  and  CUPID. 

CUPID. 

Recitative, 

Ho  ! mistress  Juno — here’s  a storm  a-brewing — 
Your  devil  of  a spouse  is  always  doing — 

Pray  step  aside — this  evening,  I protest, 

Jove  and  Miss  Maia — ^you  may  guess  the  rest — 

JUNO. 

How  ! what ! when  ! where  ! — nay,  pri’thee  now 
unfold  it. 

CUPID. 

’Gad — so  I will ; for  faith  I cannot  hold  it. 

His  mighty  godship  in  a fiery  flurry 
Met  me  just  now — confusion  to  his  hurry ! 

I stopt  his  way,  forsooth,  and,  with  a thwack, 

He  laid  a thunderbolt  across  my  back : 

Bless  me ! I feel  it  now — my  short  ribs  ache  yet— 
I vow’d  revenge,  and  now  by  Styx  I’ll  take  it. 
]\liss  Maia,  in  her  chamber,  after  nine. 

Receives  the  thund’rer,  in  his  robes  divine. 

I undermined  it  all ; see,  here’s  the  letter — 
Could  Dukes  spell  worse,  whose  tutors  spelt  no 
better  ? 

You  know  false  spelling  now  is  much  the  fashion— 


THE  REVENGE. 


179 


JUNO. 


Lend  me  your  drops— oh ! I shall  swoon  with 


passion 


ril  tear  her  eyes  out ! oh  I I’ll  stab — I’ll  strangle ! 
And  worse  than  lover’s  English,  her  I’ll  mangle  ! 

CUPID. 

Nay,  pray  be  calm ; I’ve  hit  of  an  expedient 
To  do  you  right — 

JUNO. 

Sweet  Cupid,  your  obedient— 

CUPID. 

Tie  Maia  by  the  leg  ; steal  in  her  stead. 

Into  the  smuggled  raptures  of  her  bed  ; 

When  the  God  enters,  let  him  take  possession. 

JUNO. 

An  excellent  scheme ! My  joy’s  beyond  expres- 
sion ! 

CUPID. 

Nay,  never  stay ; delaying  may  confute  it 


JUNO. 

0 happy  thought ! I fly  to  execute  it. 


[Exit  Juno. 


180 


ACILXOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Scene  V. 

CUPID. 

Recitative, 

See  how  she  flies,  whilst  warring  passions  shake 
her, 

Nor  thought  nor  lightening  now  can  overtake  her 


Air. 

How  often  in  the  marriage  state, 

The  wise,  the  sensible,  the  great. 

Find  misery  and  woe  ; 

Though,  should  we  dive  in  nature’s  laws, 
To  trace  the  first  primeval  cause. 

The  wretch  is  self-made  so. 

Air  changes. 

Love’s  a pleasure,  solid,  real. 

Nothing  fanciful,  ideal, 

’I'is  the  bliss  of  human  kind ; 

All  the  other  passions  move 
In  subjection  under  Love, 

’Tis  the  tyrant  of  the  mind. 


THE  REVENGE. 


]81 


Scene  VI 

CUPID,  BACCHUS  With  a howl. 

BACCHUS. 

Recitative. 

'Odsniggers,  t’other  draught,  ’tis  dev’lish  heady, 
31ympus  turns  about ; {staggers)  steady,  boys, 
steady ! 

Air, 

If  Jove  should  pretend  that  he  governs  the 
skies, 

I swear  by  this  liquor  his  thundership  lies ; 

A slave  to  his  bottle,  he  governs  by  wine, 

And  all  must  confess  he’s  a servant  of  mine. 

Air  changes. 

E-osy,  sparkling,  powerful  wine. 

All  the  joys  of  life  are  thine  ! 

Search  the  drinking  world  around, 
Bacchus  ev’ry where  sits  crown’d : 

Whilst  we  lift  the  flowing  bowl. 
Unregarded  thunders  roll. 

Air  changes. 

Since  man,  as  says  each  bearded  sage, 

Is  but  a piece  of  clay. 

Whose  mystic  moisture  lost  by  age. 

To  dust  it  falls  away ; 


182 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


^Tis  orthodox  beyond  a doubt, 

That  drought  will  only  fret  it ; 

To  make  the  brittle  stuff  hold  out, 

Is  thus  to  drink  and  wet  it. 

Recitative, 

Ah ! Master  Cupid,  ’slife  I did  not  s’ye, 

'Tis  excellent  champagne,  and  so  here’s  t’ye : 

I brought  it  to  these  gardens  as  imported, 

’Tis  bloody  strong — you  need  not  twice  be  courted 
Come  drink,  my  boy — 

CUPID. 

Hence,  monster,  hence  ! I scorn  thy  flowing  bowl, 
It  prostitutes  the  sense,  degenerates  the  soul. 

BACCHUS. 

Gadso,  methinks  the  youngster’s  woundy  moral ! 
He  plays  with  ethics  like  a bell  and  coral. 

Air, 

’Tis  madness  to  think. 

To  judge  ere  you  drink, — 

The  bottom  all  wisdom  contains : 

Then  let  you  and  I 
Now  drink  the  bowl  dry. 

We  both  shall  grow  wise  for  our  pains. 


THE  REVENGE. 


183 


CUPID. 

Pray  keep  your  distance,  beast,  and  cease  your 
bawling. 

Or  with  this  dart  I’ll  send  you  catterwauling. 

Air, 

The  charms  of  wine  cannot  compare 
With  the  soft  raptures  of  the  fair : 

Can  drunken  pleasures  ever  find 
A place  with  love  and  womankind  ? 

Can  the  full  bowl  pretend  to  vie 
With  the  soft  languish  of  the  eye  ? 

Can  the  mad  roar  our  passions  move, 

Like  gentle  breathing  sighs  of  love  ? 

BACCHUS. 

Go  whine  and  complain 
To  the  girls  of  the  plain, 

And  sigh  out  your  soul  ere  she  comes  to  the  mind; 
My  mistress  is  here. 

And  faith  I don’t  fear — 

I always  am  happy,  she  always  is  kind. 

Air  changes, 

A pox  o’  your  lasses ! 

A shot  of  my  glasses 
Your  arrow  surpasses  ; 

For  nothing  but  asses 
Will  draAv  in  your  team ; 

Whilst  thus  1 am  drinking, 


184 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


My  misery  sinking, 

The  cannikin  clinking, 

Tm  lost  to  all  thinking, 

And  care  is  a dream. 

CUPID. 

Provoking  insolence ! 

BACCHUS. 

What  words  it  utters ! 
Alas ! poor  little  creature,  how  it  sputters ! 

CUPID. 

Away,  you  drunkard  wild— 

BACCHUS. 

Away,  you  silly  child — 

CUPID. 

Fly,  or  else  Til  wound  thy  soul. 

BACCHUS. 

Zounds,  ril  drown  thee  in  the  bowl  I 

CUPID. 

You  rascally  broacher. 

You  hogshead  of  liquor — 

BACCHUS. 

You  shadow,  you  poacher ! 

Aha  ! — bring  me  a stick  here— 


THE  REVENGE. 


18o 


I’ll  give  you  a trimmerj 
You  bladder  of  air — 

CUPID. 

You  soul  of  a brimmer — 

BACCHUS. 

You  tool  of  the  fair — 

CUPID. 

You  movable  tun, 

You  tippler,  you  sot — 

BACCHUS. 

Nay,  then  the  work’s  done. 

My  arrow  is  shot. 

[Bacchus  throws  the  contents  of  the  howl  in 
Cupid^s  fnce^  and  runs  off 


Scene  VIL 

CUPID. 

Recitative, 

Kind  usage  this — it  sorely  shall  befall  him — 
Here’s  my  best  arrow,  and  by  heav’n  I’ll  maul 
him. 

Revenge ! revenge  ! Oh,  how  I long  to  wound 
him ; 

Now  all  the  pangs  of  slighted  love  confound  him. 


186 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Air. 

No  more  in  the  bowl 
His  brutalized  soul 
Shall  find  a retreat  from  the  lass : 
rU  pay  him, 

And  slay  him, 

His  love  shall  be  dry  as  his  glass. 

END  OP  THE  FIRST  ACT. 


Act  IL — Scene  L 
Bacchus,  with  his  howl  pn  his  head. 
Air. 

Alas,  alas ! how  fast 
I feel  my  spirits  sinking ; 

The  joys  of  life  are  past, 

Tve  lost  the  power  of  drinking. 
’Egad,  I find  at  last 
The  heav’nly  charms  of  tinking, 
And  in  the  sound  I cast 
The  miseries  of  thinking. 

Recitative. 

Fm  plaguy  ill — in  dev’lish  bad  condition — 
What  shall  I do? — Til  send  for  a physician 


[Rant 


THE  RETENGE. 


187 


But  then  the  horrid  fees — ay,  there’s  the 
question — 

’Tis  losing  all  a man’s  estate  in  jesting, 

Whilst  nurses  and  apothecaries  partake — 
Zounds,  this  will  never  do,  ’twiU  make  my  heart 
ache. 

Come  then,  ye  fiddlers,  play  up  t’other  bout, 

I’ve  a new  nostrum,  and  I’ll  sing  it  out. 

Air, 

Scrape,  ye  fiddlers,  tinkle,  tinkle, 

Music  makes  my  twinklers  twinkle  ; 
Humming, 

Thrumming, 

Groaning, 

Toning, 

Squeaking, 

Shrieking, 

Bawling, 

Squalling, 

0 the  sweet  charms  of  tinkle,  tinkle  I 


Recitative, 

But  this  is  trifiing  with  the  hot  disease. 

Nor  wine  nor  brandy  now  can  give  me  ease. 

Air, 

When  a jolly  toper  ails. 

And  his  nectar  bottle  fails, 

He’s  in  a most  heavenly  condition : 


188 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Unless  he  can  drink, 

To  the  grave  he  must  sink, 
And  Death  be  his  only  physician. 


Recitative  ^ 

Zounds,  can’t  I guess  the  cause — hum — could  1 
say  a 

Short  prayer  or  two,  with  pretty  Mistress  Maia. 
Ah  ! there  it  is ! why  I was  woundy  stupid — 
Faith,  this  is  all  the  handiwork  of  Cupid. 

Since  I’m  in  love  then,  over  ears  and  head  in, 
’Tis  time  to  look  about  for  bed  and  bedding ; 

But  first  uncovering,  in  this  magic  helmet. 

I’ll  show  the  God  that  love  and  wine  are  well  met. 


Air, 

Fill  the  bowl,  and  fill  it  high. 
Vast  as  the  extended  sky  ! 

Since  the  dire  disease  is  found. 
Wine’s  a balm  to  cure  the  wound. 
0 the  rapturous  delights  ! 

When  with  women  wine  unites  ! 

Recitative, 

0 here,  my  satyrs,  fill  the  mighty  cup. 
Haste,  fiy,  begone  ! I’m  dying  for  a sup. 

Air. 

I’ll  fly  to  her  arms. 

And  rifle  her  charms, 


THE  REVENGE. 


189 


In  kisses  and  compliments  lavish : 
When  heated  by  wine, 

If  she  should  not  incline, 

I’ll  try  all  my  courage,  and  ravish. 


Scene  II  A dark  Room, 

JUNO. 

Recitative. 

Now,  Master  Jupiter,  I’ll  catch  you  napping — 
’Gad,  you’ll  be  finely  hamper’d  your  own  trap 
in. 

Would  ev’ry  husband  follow  your  example. 

And  take  upon  himself  his  own  adorning, 

No  more  would  wives  upon  their  trammels  tram- 
pie, 

No  more  would  stand  the  ancient  trade  of  homing. 
Air. 

What  wife  but  like  me. 

Her  husband  would  see 
A rakehelly  fellow,  a ranter,  a rover ; 

If  mistaking  her  charms. 

He  should  die  in  her  arms. 

And  lose  the  cold  spouse  in  the  warmth  of  the 
lover. 

Recitative. 


Impatiently  I wait- 


190 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Air, 

Hark,  bark  ! the  God  approaches, 
He  longs  to  ease  his  pain ; 

Oh,  how  this  love  encroaches 
Thro’  ev’ry  trembling  vein. 

Oh,  how  my  passion’s  rising. 

And  thumping  in  my  breast ! 

’Tis  something  most  surprising, 

I shall  be  doubly  blest. 


Recitative* 

He’s  here — Now  prosper,  Love,  my  undertaking 
I’ll  steal  aside — I’m  in  a piteous  quaking. 


Scene  IIL 

JUNO  and  BACCHUS. 

BACCHUS. 

Recitative, 

Now,  pretty  Mistress  Maia,  I’m  your  humble — 
But  faith.  I’d  better  look  before  I tumble  : 

For  should  the  little  gipsy  make  resistance, 

And  call  in  witnesses  to  her  assistance. 

Then,  Bacchus,  should  your  friends  or  sister  fail 

ye, 

You’ll  look  confounded  queer  at  the  Old  Bailey— • 


THE  REVENGE. 


191 


Air. 

The  man  that  has  no  friend  at  court, 

Must  make  the  laws  confine  his  sport ; 

But  he  that  has,  by  dint  of  flaws, 

May  make  his  ^ort  confine  the  laws. 

Recitative, 

Zounds ! Tve  a project,  and  a fine  one  too — 
What  will  not  passion  and  invention  do  ? 
rU  imitate  the  voice  and  sound  of  Jove, 

The  girl’s  ambition  won’t  withstand  his  love. 

But  should  she  squawl,  and  cry  a rape,  and  scream 
on’t, 

Presto,  I’m  gone,  and  Jove  will  bear  the  blame 
on’t. 

The  farce  begins,  the  prologue’s  wond’rous  teas- 
ing. 

Pray,  Cupid,  the  catastrophe  be  pleasing ! 

Air, 

Oh ! where  is  my  Maia  ? 0 say 
What  shadow  conceals  the  fair  maid  ? 

Bring  hither  the  lantern  of  day, 

And  show  me  where  Maia  is  laid. 

Envious  vapours,  fly  away  ; 

Come  ye  streaming  lights,  discover, 

To  an  ardent,  dying  lover, 

Maia  and  the  charms  of  day. 


192 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


JUNO,  aside. 

Recitative, 

I have  you  fast — ^by  all  my  wrongs,  I’ll  fit  ye — 
Wise  as  you  are,  perhaps  I may  outwit  ye. 

Air. 

Here  thy  longing  Maia  lies, 

Passion  flaming  in  her  eyes  ; 

Whilst  her  heart 
Is  thumping,  beating, 

All  in  a heat,  in 
Every  part : 

Like  the  ocean. 

All  commotion. 

Through  her  veins  the  billows  roll. 

And  the  soft  tempest  ruffles  all  her  soul. 

BACCHUS,  aside. 

Recitative.  [Aside 

Gods ! I have  struck  upon  the  very  minute  ; 

I shall  be  happy,  or  the  devil’s  in  it : 

It  seems  some  assignation  was  intended, 

I ’d  pump  it — but  least  said  is  soonest  mended. 

Air. 

Happy,  happy,  happy  hour  ! 

Cupid  now  exalts  his  power ; 

In  my  breast  the  passion  raging. 

All  my  trembling  frame  engaging. 


THE  REVENGE. 


193 


Sets  my  every  sense  on  fire  ; 

Let  us,  Maia,  now  retire. 

JUNO. 

Recitative, 

But  say,  should  I resign  my  virgin  charms, 
Would  you  be  ever  constant  to  my  arms  ? 

Would  not  your  Juno  rob  me  of  your  kindness  ? 
Must  you  not  truckle  to  her  royal  highness  ? 

BACCHUS. 

No  ! by  the  dirty  waves  of  Styx  I swear  it. 

My  love  is  your’s — my  wife  shall  never  share  it 

JUNO,  aside, 

Tis  a sad  compliment,  but  I must  bear  it. 

BACCHUS. 

Air» 

Then  let’s  away, 

And  never  delay, 

’Tis  folly  to  stay 

From  rapture  and  love : 

I sicken,  I die  ; 

0 come,  let  us  fly, 

From  the  blue  vaulted  sky 
To  the  Paphian  Grove. 


VOL.  I. 


13 


194 


ACKl^OWLEDGED  POEMS. 


JUNO. 

Then  away ! 

I obey 

Love  and  nature. 

BACCHUS. 

Since  ’tis  so, 

Let  us  go, 

Dearest  creature ! 


Scene  IV. 

JUNO,  BACCHUS,  JUPITEE. 

JUPITER. 

Recitative, 

I heard  a voice  within,  or  else  I’m  tipsy — 
Maia,  where  are  you  ? Come,  you  little  gipsy 

BACCHUS. 

Maia’s  with  me,  sir ; who  the  devil  are  ye  ? 
Sirrah,  be  gone  ; I’ll  trim  you  if  you  tarry. 

JUPITER. 

Fine  lingo  this  to  Jupiter ! — why  truly 
I’m  Jove  the  thund’rer — 


THE  REVENGE. 


195 


JUNO. 

Out,  you  rascal,  you  lie— 


BACCHUS. 


nris  I am  Jupiter,  I wield  the  thunder ! 

Zounds,  I ^11  sneak  off  before  they  find  the  blunder. 

[Aside, 


JUPITER. 

Breaking  from  above,  below. 

Flow,  ye  gleams  of  morning,  flow : 

Rise,  ye  glories  of  the  day. 

Rise  at  once  with  strengthen’d  ray. 

[Sudden  lights  all  astonished > 


BACCHUS. 

Zounds  ! what  can  this  mean  ? 

JUNO. 

I am  all  confusion  ! 

JUPITER. 

Your  pardon,  Juno,  for  this  rude  intrusion. 
Insatiate  monster  ! I may  now  be  jealous  ; 

If  Pve  my  mistresses,  you  have  your  fellows  i 
I’m  now  a very  husband  without  doubt, 

I feel  the  honours  of  my  forehead  sprout. 

Air, 

Was  it  for  this,  from  morning  to  night. 
Tempests  and  hurricanes  dwelt  on  your  tongue ; 


196 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Ever  complaining  of  coldness  and  slight, 

And  the  same  peal  was  eternally  rung? 

Was  it  for  this  I was  stinted  of  joy, 

Pleasure  and  happiness  banished  my  breast, 
Poison’d  with  fondness  which  ever  must  cloy, 
Pinn’d  to  your  sleeve,  and  denied  to  be  blest  ? 

Recitative, 

I swear  by  Styx,  and  that’s  a horrid  oath, 

I’ll  have  revenge,  and  that  upon  you  both. 

JUNO. 

Nay,  hear  me,  Jove,  by  all  that’s  serious  too, 

I swear  I took  the  drunken  dog  for  you. 

BACCHUS. 

And  with  as  safe  a conscience,  I can  say,  as 
I now  stand  here,  I thought  the  chamber  Maia’s 

JUPITER. 

It  cannot  be 


Air, 

I’ll  not  be  cheated. 

Nor  be  treated 

Like  the  plaything  of  your  will. 

JUNO. 

I’ll  not  be  slighted. 

I’ll  be  righted. 

And  I’ll  keep  my  spirits  still. 


THE  REVENGE. 


197 


JUPITER.  [ To  Bacchm 

You  pitiful  cully 

JUNO  and  Bacchus.  [ Tc  JupiUr 

You  rakehelly  bully, 

Your  blustering, 

Clattering, 

Flustering, 

Spattering, 

Thundering, 

Blundering, 

I defy. 

JUPITER. 

Go  mind  your  toping. 

Never  come  groping 

Into  my  quarters,  I desire,  six : 

Here  you  come  horning. 

And  adorning 


JUNO. 

You  are  a liar,  sir. 

BACCHUS. 

You  lie,  sir,  you  lie. 


11)8 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Seem  V. 

JUNO,  BACCHUS,  JUPITER,  CUPID. 

CUPID. 

Recitative. 

Here  are  the  lovers  all  at  clapper-clawing; 

A very  pretty  scene  for  Collett’s  drawing. 

Oh,  oh,  immortals,  why  this  catterwauling  ? 
Through  all  Olympus  I have  heard  your  bawling. 
Ah  ! Cupid,  your  fine  plotting,  with  a pox. 

Has  set  all  in  the  wrong  box. 

Unravel  quickly,  for  the  Thund’rer  swears 
To  pull  creation  down  about  our  ears. 

CUPID. 

Air. 

Attend  ! attend ! attend ! 

God,  demi-god,  and  fiend, 

Mortals  and  immortals  see, 

Hither  turn  your  wond’ring  eyes, 

See  the  rulers  of  the  skies 

Conquer’d  all,  and  slaves  to  me. 

JUPITER. 

Recitative. 

Pox  your  brawling  ! haste,  unriddle  quickly. 

Or  by  the  thunder  of  my  power  I’ll  tickle  ye. 


THE  REVENGE. 


199 


CUPID. 

You,  Jove,  as  punctual  to  your  assignation, 

Came  here,  with  Maia  to  be  very  happy ; 

But  Juno,  out  of  a fond  inclination, 

Stept  in  her  room,  of  all  your  love  to  trap  ye. 
Struck  by  my  power,  which  the  slave  dared 
despise, 

Bacchus  was  wounded  too  by  Maia’s  eyes. 

And  hither  stealing  to  appease  his  love. 

Thought  Juno  Maia  ; she  thought  Bacchus  Jove* 
Here  rests  the  matter : — are  you  all  contented  ? 

JUNO. 

No,  no ! not  I 

BACCHUS. 

I’m  glad  I was  prevented. 

JUPITER.  [Agide. 

A lucky  disappointment,  on  my  life. 

All  love  is  thrown  away  upon  a wife : 

How  sad ! my  interruption  could  not  please  her. 
She  moves  my  pity — 

CUPID. 

Soften,  Jove,  and  ease  her. 

JUPITER. 

Juno,  thy  hand,  the  girls  no  more  I’ll  drive  at, 

I will  be  ever  thine — or  wench  more  private. 

\Aside^ 


200 


ACKNOAVL  EDGED  POEAIS. 


Air, 

Smooth  the  furrows  of  thy  brow, 

Jove  is  all  the  lover  now  : 

Others  he’ll  no  more  pursue, 

But  be  ever  fix’d  to  you. 

JUNO. 

Then  contented  I resign 
My  prerogative  of  scolding ; 

Quiet  when  thy  love  is  mine, 

When  my  arms  with  thine  are  folding. 

CUPID. 

Then,  jolly  Bacchus,  why  should  we  stand  out  ? 
If  we  have  quarrelled,  zounds  ! we’ll  drink  about 

AIR. 

Love  and  wine  uniting,^ 

Rule  without  control, 

Are  to  the  sense  delighting. 

And  captivate  the  soul. 

Love  and  wine  uniting. 

Are  everywhere  ador’d ; 

Their  pleasures  are  inviting. 

All  heav’n  they  can  afford. 

BACCHUS. 

Zounds,  I agree,  ’tis  folly  to  oppose  it : 

Let’s  pay  our  duty  here,  and  then  we’ll  close  it 


THE  REVENGE. 


201 


Air,  [ To  the  audience 

To  you,  ye  brave,  ye  fair,  ye  gay. 

Permit  me  from  myself  to  say — 

The  juicy  grape  for  you  shall  rise 
In  all  the  colours  of  the  skies ; 

For  you  the  vine’s  delicious  fruit 
Shall  on  the  lofty  mountains  shoot ; 

And  ev’ry  wine  to  Bacchus  dear 
Shall  sparkle  in  perfection  here. 

CUPID. 

For  you,  ye  fair,  whose  heavenly  charms 
Make  all  my  arrows  useless  arms. 

For  you  shall  Handel’s  lofty  flight 
Clash  on  the  list’ning  ear  of  night, 

And  the  soft,  melting,  sinking  lay 
In  gentle  accents  die  away : 

And  not  a whisper  shall  appear 
Which  modesty  would  blush  to  hear. 

JUNO. 

Ye  brave,  the  pillars  of  the  state. 

In  valour  and  in  conduct  great. 

For  you  the  rushing  clang  of  arms. 

The  yell  of  battle  and  alarms. 

Shall  from  the  martial  trumpets  fly, 

Ajid  echo  through  the  mantling  sky. 


202 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


JUPITER. 

From  you,  ye  glories  of  mankind, 

We  hope  a firm  support  to  find  ; 

All  that  our  humble  powers  can  do 
Shall  be  display’d  to  pleasure  you : 

On  you  we  build  a wish’d  success, 

’Tis  yours,  like  deities,  to  bless ; 

Your  smiles  will  better  every  scene. 

And  clothe  our  barren  waste  in  green. 

CHORUS. 

So  when  along  the  eastern  skies 
The  glories  of  the  morning  rise. 

The  humble  flower  which  slept  the  night, 
Expands  its  beauties  to  the  light. 

Glows  in  its  glossy  new  array. 

And  shines  amidst  the  shining  day. 

END  OF  THE  REVENGE. 


THE  WOMAN  OF  SPIRIT. 


A BURLETTA.  1770. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONAE. 

DiSTOiXT Mr.  Bannister. 

Councillor  Latitat  ......  Mr.  Reinhold. 

Endorse Master  Cheney. 

Lady  Tempest Mrs.  Thompsoa 


Act  I — Scene  L 

LADY  TEMPEST  and  LATITAT. 

LATITAT. 

I tell  you,  Lady  Tempest— 

LADY  TEMPEST. 

And  I teU  you,  Mr.  Latitat,  it  shall  not  be. — I’ll 
have  no  Society  of  Antiquaries  meet  here.  None 
but  the  honourable  Members  of  the  Coterie  shaU 
assemble  here — you  shall  know. 


204 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


LATITAT. 

Suspend  your  rage,  Lady  Tempest,  and  let  me 
open  my  brief.  Have  you  not  this  day,  moved 
by  the  instigation  of  the  devil,  and  not  having  the 
fear  of  God  before  your  eyes,  wilfully  and  wit- 
tingly and  maliciously,  driven  all  my  friends  out 
of  my  house?  Was  it  done  like  a Woman  of 
Quality  ? 

LADY  TEMPEST. 

It  was  done  like  a Woman  of  Spirit : a charac- 
ter, shall  ever  be  my  task  to  maintain. 

Air, 

Away  with  your  maxims,  and  dull  formal  rules, 

The  shackles  of  pleasure,  and  trammels  of  fools  ; 

For  Wisdom  and  Prudence  I care  not  a straw, 

I’ll  act  as  I please,  for  my  will  is  my  law. 

LATITAT. 

But  upon  my  soul.  Madam,  I have  one  more 
consideration  which  should  especially  move  you 
to  bridle  your  passion : for  it  spoils  your  face. 
When  you  knocked  down  Lord  Rust  with  the 
bust  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  you  looked  the  very 
picture  of  the  Alecto  last  taken  out  of  the  Her- 
culaneum. 

Air, 

Passion  worse  than  age  will  plough 
Furrows  on  the  frowning  brow  ; 


THE  WOMAN  OF  SPIRIT. 


2or» 


Rage  and  passion  will  disgrace 
Every  beauty  of  the  face  ; 

Whilst  good-nature  will  supply 
Beauties,  which  can  never  die. 

LADY  TEMPEST. 

Mr.  Latitat,  I won’t  be  abused — Did  I for  tins 
condescend  to  forget  my  quality  and  marry  such 
a tautology  of  nothing  ? — I will  not  be  abused. 


Scene. 


DISTORT,  LATITAT,  LADY  TEMPEST. 


DISTORT. 

Pray,  Madam,  what  has  enraged  you  ? May 
[ have  the  honour  of  knowing  ? 

LATITAT. 

Mr.  Distort  shall  be  our  referee. 

LADY  TEMPEST. 

That  is,  if  I please,  sir. 

LATITAT. 

Pray,  my  Lady,  let  me  state  the  case,  and  you 
may  afterwards  make  a reply — jou  must  know, 
•^ir 


206 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


LADY  TEMPEST. 

Yes,  sir,  you  must  know,  this  morning  Mr. 
Latitat  had  invited  all  his  antiquated  friends.  Lord 
Rust,  Horatio  Trefoil,  Col.  Tragedus,  Professor 
Vase,  and  Counterfeit  the  Jew,  to  sit  upon  a brass 
half-penny,  which  being  a little  worn,  they  agreed, 
nem.  con,  to  be  an  Otho. 

LATITAT. 

And  it  is  further  necessary  to  be  known,  that, 
while  we  were  all  warm  in  debate  upon  the 
premises,  my  lady  made  a forcible  entry  into  the 
parlour,  and  seizing  an  antique  bust  of  Marcus 
Aurelius,  of  malice  prepense  and  aforethought, 
did,  with  three  blows  of  the  said  bust,  knock  down 
Anthony  Viscount  Rust,  and — 

LADY  TEMPEST. 

And  drove  them  all  out  of  the  house. 

LATITAT. 

And  furthermore — 

LADY  TEMPEST. 

Silence,  Mr.  Latitat, — I insist  ^n  the  privilege 
of  an  English  wife. 


LATITAT. 


And  moreover — 


THE  WOMAN  OF  SPIRIT. 


207 


DISTORT. 

Nay,*  Counsellor,  as  I am  your  referee,  I com- 
mand silence  : pray  what  do  you  lay  your  dam- 
ages at  ? 

LATITAT. 

My  lady  has  in  her  cabinet  a Jupiter  Tonans, 
which,  in  spite  of  all  my  endeavours  to  open  her 
eyes,  she  persists  in  calling  an  Indian  Pagod,  and 
upon  condition  of  my  receiving  that,  I drop  the 
prosecution. 

DISTORT.  [Aside  to  Lady. 

’Tis  a trifle.  Madam,  let  him  have  it,  it  may  turn 
to  account. 

LADY  TEMPEST. 

A very  toy : he  shall  have  it  instantly,  on  con- 
dition I have  the  use  of  my  tongue. 

Air, 

What  are  all  your  favourite  joys  ? 

What  are  our  pleasures  ? 


RESIGNATION.* 


Hail,  Resignation  ! hail  ambiguous  dame, 

Thou  Parthian  archer  in  the  fight  of  fame  ! 
When  thou  hast  drawn  the  mystic  veil  between, 
’Tis  the  poor  minister’s  concluding  scene : 
Sheltered  beneath  thy  pinions  he  withdraws, 

And  tells  us  his  integrity’s  the  cause. 

Sneaking  to  solitude,  he  rails  at  state. 

And  rather  would  be  virtuous  than  be  great ; 
Laments  the  impotence  of  those  who  guide, 

And  wishes  pubhc  clamours  may  subside. 

But  while  such  rogues  as  North  or  Sandwich  steer 
Our  grievances  will  never  disappear. 

Hail,  Resignation ! ’tis  from  thee  we  trace 
The  various  villanies  of  power  and  place ; 

When  rascals^  once  but  infamy  and  rags. 

Rich  with  a nation’s  ruin,  swell  their  bags. 
Purchase  a title  and  a royal  smile. 

And  pay  to  be  distinguishably  vile  ; 

When  big  with  self-importance  ^ thus  they  shine, 

1 Copied  from  a poem  in  Chatterton’s  handwriting  in  the 
British  Museum. 

2 A pen  has  been  drawn  through  those  words  in  the  M S 


RESIGNATION. 


209 


Contented  with  their  gleanings  they  resign. 

When  ministers,  unable  to  preside, 

The  tott’ring  vehicle  no  longer  guide, 

The  powerful  Thane  prepares  to  kick  his  grace 
From  all  his  glorious  dignities  of  place; 

But  still  the  honour  of  the  action’s  thine. 

And  Grafton’s  tender  conscience  can  resign. 
Lament  not,  Grafton,  that  thy  hasty  fall 
Turns  out  a public  happiness  to  all ; 

Still  by.your  emptiness  of  look  appear 
The  ruins  of  a man  who  used  to  steer ; 

Still  wear  that  insignificance  of  face, 

Which  dignifies  you  more  than  power  or  place. 

Whilst  now  the  Constitution  tott’ring  stands. 

And  needs  the  firm  support  of  able  hands, 

Your  grace  stood  foremost  in  the  glorious  cause 
To  shake  the  very  basis  of  our  laws  ; 

But  thanks  to  Camden,  and  a noble  few. 

They  stemm’d  Oppression’s  tide,  and  conquer’d 
you. 

How  can  your  prudence  be  completely  praised 
In  flying  from  the  storm  yourself  had  raised  ? 
When  the  black  clouds  of  discord  veil’d  the 
sky, 

’Twas  more  than  prudence  in  your  grace  to  fly. 
For  had  the  thunders  burst  upon  your  head 
Soon  had  you  mingled  with  the  headless  dead  ; 
Not  Bute,  though  here  the  deputy  of  fate. 

Could  save  so  vile  a minister  of  state. 

14 


VOL.  I. 


glO  ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 

Oft  as  the  Carlton  Sibyl  prophesied 

How  long  each  minister  of  state  should  guide, 

And  from  the  dark  recesses  of  her  cell, 

When  Bute  was  absent,  would  to  Stuart  tell 
The  secret  fates  of  senators  and  peers, 

What  lord’s  exalted  but  to  lose  his  ears. 

What  future  plans  the  junto  have  design’d. 

What  writers  ^ are  with  Rockingham  combin’d. 
Who  should  accept  a privy  seal  or  rod, 

Who’s  lord- lieu  tenant  of  the  land  of  Nod, 

What  pension’d  nobleman  should  hold  his  post. 
What  poor  dependant  scored  without  his  host. 
What  patriot  big  with  popular  applause 
Should  join  the  ministry  and  prop  the  cause  ; 
With  many  secrets  of  a like  import 
The  daily  tittle-tattle  of  a court. 

By  common  fame  retail’d  as  office  news 
In  coffee-houses,  taverns,  cellars,  stews ; 

Oft  from  her  secret  casket  would  she  draw 
A knotty  plan  to  undermine  the  law  ; 

But  though  the  council  sat  upon  the  scheme. 
Time  has  discovered  that  ’tis  all  a dream ; 

Long  had  she  known  the  date  of  Grafton’s  power 
And  in  her  tablet  mark’d*  his  flying  hour ; 
Rumour  reports  a message  from  her  cell 
Arrived  but  just  three  hours  before  he  fell. 

Well  knew  the  subtle  minister  of  state 
Her  knowledge  in  the  mysteries  of  fate, 

1 Whether  “ writers  ” or  “ wretches  ” is  uncertain,  the 
bsjing  obscure. 


RESIGNATION. 


211 


And  catching  every  pension  he  could  find, 

Obey’d  the  fatal  summons  and  resign’d. 

Far  in  the  north,  amidst  whose  dreary  hills 
None  hear  the  pleasant  murm’ring  sound  of  riUs, 
Where  no  soft  gale  in  dying  raptures  blows, 

Or  ought  which  bears  the  look  of  verdure  grows. 
Save  where  the  north  wind  cuts  the  solemn 
yew. 

And  russet  rushes  drink  the  noxious  dew. 

Dank  exhalations  drawn  from  stagnant  moors — 
The  morning  dress  of  Caledonia’s  shores. 

Upon  a bleak  and  solitary  plain. 

Expos’d  to  every  storm  of  wind  and  rain, 

A humble  cottage  rear’d  its  lowly  head, 

Its  roof  with  matted  reeds  and  rushes  spread ; 
The  walls  were  osiers  daub’d  with  slimy  clay. 

One  narrow  entrance  open’d  to  the  day ; 

Here  liv’d  a Laird,  the  ruler  of  his  clan. 

Whose  fame  through  every  northern  mountain 
ran  ; 

Great  was  his  learning,  for  he  long  had  been 
A student  at  the  town  of  Aberdeen, 

Professor  of  all  languages  at  once. 

To  him  some  reckoned  Chappellow  ^ a dunce. 
With  happy  fluency  he  learn’d  to  speak 
Syriac  or  Latin,  Arabic  or  Greek. 

I Professor  of  Arabic  in  the  University  of  Cambridge  from 
1720  to  1768;  eminent  for  his  intimate  acqmintance  with  the 
Oriental  languages. 


212 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Not  any  tongue  in  which  Oxonians  sing 
When  they  rejoice,  or  blubber  with  the  king, 

To  him  appear’d  unknown : with  sapient  look 
He  taught  the  highland  meaning  of  each  crook. 
But  often  when  to  pastimes  he  inclin’d, 

To  give  some  relaxation  to  his  mind. 

He  laid  his  books  aside ; forgot  to  read  ; 

To  hunt  wild  goslings  down  the  river  Tweed, 

To  chase  a starving  weasel  from  her  bed 
And  wear  the  spoil  triumphant  on  his  head. 

’Tis  true  his  rent-roll  just  maintain’d  his  state, 
But  some,  in  spite  of  poverty,  are  great. 

Though  famine  sunk  her  impress  on  his  face. 

Still  you  might  there  his  haughty  temper  trace. 
Descended  from  a catalogue  of  kings 
Whose  warlike  arts  Mac  Pherson  sweetly  sings. 
He  bore  the  majesty  of  monarchs  past. 

Like  a tall  pine  rent  with  the  winter’s  blast. 
Whose  spreading  trunk  and  withered  branches 
show 

How  glorious  once  the  lordly  tree  might  grow. 

Of  all  the  warring  passions  in  his  breast 
Ambition  still  presided  o’er  the  rest; 

This  is  the  spur  which  actuates  us  all. 

The  visionary  height  whence  thousands  fall. 

The  author’s  hobby-horse,  the  soldier’s  steed 
Which  aids  him  in  each  mihtary  deed, 

The  lady’s  dresser,  looking-glass  and  paint. 

The  warm  devotion  of  the  seeming  saint. 


KESIGNATION. 


213 


Sawnej,  the  nobler  ruler  of  the  clan, 

Had  number’d  o’er  the  riper  years  of  man, 
Graceful  in  stature,  ravishing  his  mien. 

To  make  a conquest  was  but  to  be  seen. 

Fired  by  ambition  be  resolved  to  roam 
Far  from  the  famine  of  bis  native  home, 
lb  seek  the  warmer  climate  of  the  south. 

And  at  one  banquet  feast  his  eyes  and  mouth. 

In  vain  the  am’rous  highland  lass  complain’d. 
The  son  of  monarchs  would  not  be  restrain’d ; 
Clad  in  his  native  many-colour’d  suit. 

Forth  struts  the  walking  majesty  of  Bute. 

His  spacious  sword  to  a large  wallet  strung. 
Across  his  broad  capacious  shoulders  hung : 

As  from  the  hills  the  land  of  promise  rose 
A secret  transport  in  his  bosom  glows : 

A joy  prophetic  until  then  unknown, 

Assur’d  him  all  he  view’d  would  be  his  own. 

New  scenes  of  pleasure  recreate  his  sight, 
lie  views  the  fertile  meadows  with  delight ; 

Still  in  soliloquy  he  prais’d  the  view. 

Nor  more  was  pleased  with  future  scenes  at  Kew, 
His  wonder  broke  in  murmurs  from  his  tongue. 
No  more  the  praise  of  highland  hills  he  sung, 

Till  now  a stranger  to  the  cheerful  green 
Where  springing  flowers  diversify  the  scene, 

The  lofty  elm,  the  oak  of  lordly  look. 

The  willow  shadowing  the  bubbling  brook. 

The  hedges  blooming  with  the  sweets  of  May 
double  pleasure  mark’d  his  gladsome  way 


iJ14  ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 

Having  through  varying  rural  prospects  })ast, 

He  rea(‘>h’d  the  great  metropohs  at  last. 

Here  fate  beheld  him  as  he  trudg’d  the  street. 
Bare  was  his  buttocks  and  unshod  his  feet, 

A lengthening  train  of  boys  displayed  him  great, 
He  seem’d  already  minister  of  state. 

The  Carlton  Sibyl  saw  his  graceful  mien. 

And  straight  forgot  her  hopes  of  being  Queen. 

* * * * * 

She  sigh’d,  she  wish’d ; swift  virtuous  Chudleigh 
flew 

To  bring  the  Caledonian  swain  to  Kew ; 

Then  introduced  him  to  her  secret  cell, — 

What  further  can  the  modest  numbers  tell  ? 
***** 

None  rode  the  broomstaff  with  so  good  a grace, 
Or  pleased  her  with  such  majesty  of  face ; 
Enraptur’d  with  her  incubus  she  sought 
How  to  reward  his  merit  as  she  ought. 

Resolved  to  make  him  greatest  of  the  great 
She  led  him  to  her  hidden  cave  of  state ; 

There  spurs  and  coronets  were  placed  around, 
And  privy  seals  were  scatter’d  on  the  ground ; 
Here  piles  of  honorary  truncheons  lay. 

And  gleaming  stars  made  artificial  day ; 

With  mystic  rods  whose  magic  power  is  such 
They  metamorphose  parties  with  a touch. 

Here  hung  the  princely ^ of  garter’d  blue 

With  flags  of  all  varieties  of  hue. 


1 Illegible. 


RESIGNATION. 


21 


These,  said  the  Sibyl,  from  this  present  hour 
Are  thine,  with  every  dignity  of  power. 

No  statesman  shall  be  titularly  great. 

None  shall  obtain  an  office  in  the  state 
But  such  whose  principles  and  manners  suit 
The  virtuous  temper  of  the  Earl  of  Bute ; 

All  shall  pursue  thy  interest,  none  shall  guide 
But  such  as  you  repute  are  qualified. 

No  more  on  Scotland’s  melancholy  plain 
Your  starving  countrymen  shall  drink  the  rain, 
But  hither  hastening  on  their  naked  feet. 
Procure  a place,  forget  themselves,  and  eat. 

No  southern  patriot  shall  oppose  my  will. 

If  not  my  look,  my  Treasurer  can  kill ; 

His  pistol  never  fails  in  time  of  need. 

And  who  dares  contradict  my  power  shall  bleed. 

A future  Barrington  will  also  rise 

With  blood  and  death  to  entertain  my  eyes. 

But  this  forestalls  futurity  and  fate. 

I’ll  choose  the  present  hour  to  make  thee  great. 
He  bow’d  submission,  and  with  eager  view 
Gazed  on  the  wither’d  oracle  of  Kew. 

She  seized  a pendant  garter,  and  began 
To  elevate  the  ruler  of  the  clan. 

Girt  round  his  leg  the  honour’d  trifle  shone, 

And  gather’d  double  lustre  from  the  throne ; 
With  native  dignity  he  fill’d  the  stall. 

The  wonder,  jest,  and  enmity  of  all. 

Not  yet  content  with  honorary  grace. 

The  Sibyl,  busy  for  the  sweets  of  place, 


216 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Kick’d  out  a minister,  the  people’s  pride, 

And  lifted  Sawney  in  his  place  to  guide. 

The  Leader  of  the  Treasury  he  rose. 

Whilst  fate  mark’d  down  the  nation’s  future 
woes. 

Mad  with  ambition  his  imperious  hand 
Scattered  oppression  through  a groaning  land ; 
Still  taxes  followed  taxes,  grants  supplies. 

With  every  ill  resulting  from  excise. 

Not  satisfied  with  this  unjust  increase. 

He  struck  a bolder  stroke,  and  sold  the  peace ; 
The  Gallic  millions  so  convinced  his  mind 
On  honourable  terms  the  treaty’s  sign’d. 

But  who  his  private  character  can  blame. 

Or  brand  his  titles  with  a villain’s  name? 

Upon  an  estimation  of  the  gains 

He  stoop’d  beneath  himself  to  take  the  reins, 

A good  economist  he  serv’d  the  crown, 

And  made  his  master’s  interest  bis  own. 

His  starving  friends  and  countrymen  applied. 

To  share  the  ministry,  assist  to  guide ; 

Nor  ask’d  in  vain  : — his  charitable  hand 
Made  Plenty  smile  in  Scotland’s  barren  land, 

Her  wandering  sons  for  poverty  renown’d 
Places  and  pensions,  bribes  or  titles  found. 

Far  from  the  south,  was  humble  merit  fled. 

And  on  the  northern  mountains  rear’d  her  head 
And  genius  having  rang’d  beyond  the  Tweed, 

Sat  brooding  upon  bards  who  could  not  read ; 


RESIGNATION. 


217 


WTiilst  courage,  boasting  of  his  highland  might, 
Mentions  not  Culloden’s  inglorious  flight,  , 

But  whilst  his  lordship  fiUs  the  honour’d  stall,  * 
Ample  provision  satisfies  them  all. 

The  genius  sings  his  praise,  the  soldier  swears 
To  mutilate  each  murm’ring  caitiff’s  ears ; 

The  father  of  his  country  they  adore. 

And  live  in  elegance  unknown  before. 

Nor  yet  unthankful  he  for  power  and  place, 

He  praised  the  Sibyl  with  distinguish’d  grace.' 

Around  this  mystic  sun  of  liquid  gold 
A swarm  of  planetary  statesmen  roll’d  ; 

Though  some  have  since  as  ministers  been  known, 
They  shone  with  borrow’d  lustre  not  their  own: 

In  ev’ry  revolution  day  and  night 

From  Bute  they  caught  each  particle  of  light ; 

He  destin’d  out  the  circles  they  fulfil. 

Hung  on  the  bulky  nothing  of  his  will. 

How  shall  I brand  with  infamy  a name 
Which  bids  defiance  to  all  sense  of  shame  ? 

How  shall  I touch  his  iron  soul  with  pain. 

Who  hears  unmoved  a multitude  complain? 

A multitude  made  wretched  by  his  hand. 

The  common  curse  and  nuisance  of  the  land. 
Holland,  of  thee  I sing — infernal  wretch  1 
Say,  can  thy  power  of  mischief  further  stretch  ? 

'^Twelve  lines,  unfit  for  publication,  are  here  omitted. 


218 


ACKNOWLEDGED  TOE^MS. 


Is  there  no  other  army  to  be  sold, 

No  town  to  be  destroy’d  for  bribes  and  gold  ? 
Or  wilt  thou  rather  sit  contented  down, 

And  starve  the  subject  to  enrich  the  crown  ? 
That  when  the  treasury  can  boast  supplies, 

Thy  pilfering  genius  may  have  exercise  ; 
Whilst  unaccounted  millions  pay  thy  toil, 

Thou  art  secure  if  Bute  divides  the  spoil. 
Catching  his  influence  from  the  best  of  kings, 
Vice  broods  beneath  the  shadow  of  his  wings. 
The  vengeance  of  a nation  is  defied. 

And  liberty  and  justice  set  aside. 

Distinguish’d  robber  of  the  public,  say. 

What  urged  thy  timid  spirit’s  hasty  way  ? 

She in  the  protection  of  a king. 

Did  recollection  paint  the  fate  of  Byng  ? 

Did  conscience  hold  that  mirror  to  thy  sight. 

Or  Aylyffe’s  ghost  accompany  thy  flight  ? 

Is  Bute  more  powerful  than  the  sceptred  hand. 
Or  art  thou  safer  in  a foreign  land  ? 

In  vain,  the  scene  relinquish’d,  now  you  grieve, 
Cursing  the  moment  you  were  forced  to  leave 
Thy  ruins  on  the  Isle  of  Thanet  built. 

The  fruits  of  plunder,  villainy,  and  guilt. 

When  you  presume  on  English  ground  to  tread, 
Justice  will  lift  her  weapon  at  your  head. 
Contented  with  the  author  of  your  state 
Maintain  the  conversation  of  the  great. 

Be  busy  in  confederacy  and  plot. 

And  settle  what  shall  be  on  what  is  not ; 


RESIGNATION. 


219 


Display  the  statesman  in  some  wild  design, 
Foretell  when  North  will  tumble  and  resign, 
How  long  the  busy  Sandwich,  mad  for  rule, 

Will  lose  his  labour  and  remain  a fool. 

But  your  accounts,  the  subject  of  debate. 

Are  sunk  beneath  the  notice  of  the  great. 

Let  bribed  exchequer-tellers  find  ’em  just. 

While  on  the  penalty  of  place  they  must ; 
Before  they’re  seen  your  honesty  is  clear, 

And  all  will  evidently  right  appear. 

When  as  a Minister  you  had  your  day, 

And  gather’d  light  from  Bute’s  superior  ray. 

His  striking  representative  you  shone, 

Ajid  seem’d  to  glimmer  in  yourself  alone ; 

The  lives  of  thousands  barter’d  for  a bribe, 

With  villainies  too  shocking  to  describe. 

Your  system  of  oppression  testified 

None  but  the  conscientious  Fox  could  guide. 

As  Bute  is  fix’d  eternal  in  his  sphere. 

And  Ministers  revolve  around  in  air. 

Your  infamy  with  such  a lasting  ray. 

Glow’d  through  your  orb  in  one  continual  day : 
Still  ablest  politicians  hold  dispute. 

Whether  you  gave  or  borrow’d  light  from 
Bute. 

Lost  in  the  blaze  of  his  superior  parts. 

We  often  have  descried  your  little  arts. 

But  at  a proper  distance  from  his  sphere 
We  saw  the  little  villain  disappear ; 


220 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


When  drest  in  titles,  the  burlesque  of  place, 

A more  illustrious  rascal  show’d  his  face ; 

Your  destin’d  sphere  of  Ministry  now  run, 

You  dropt  like  others  in  the  parent  sun ; 

There  as  a spot  you  purpose  to  remain, 

And  seek  protection  in  the  Sibyl’s  swain. 

Grafton  his  planetary  life  began, 

Though  foreign  to  the  system  of  the  clan ; 

Slowly  he  roll’d  around  the  fount  of  light. 

Long  was  his  day,  but  longer  was  his  night. 
Irregular,  unequal  in  his  course, 

Now  languid  he  revolves,  now  rolls  with  force ; 
Ilis  scarce-collected  light  obliquely  hurl’d 
Was  scatter’d  ere  it  reach’d  his  frozen  world. 
Through  all  his  under  offices  of  place. 

All  had  conspir’d  to  represent  his  grace ; 

Lifeless  and  dull  the  wheels  of  state  were 
driven. 

Slow  as  a courtier  on  his  road  to  heaven. 

If  expedition  urged  the  dull  machine. 

He  knew  so  little  of  the  golden  mean. 

Swift  hurry  and  confusion  wild  began 
To  discompose  the  Thane’s  determin’d  plan. 

Error,  his  secretary,  lent  his  aid 
To  undermine  each  plot  his  cunning  laid  ; 

He  wrote  dispatches  in  his  grace’s  name. 

And  ruined  every  project  North  could  frame : 

5Tet  as  he  blunder’d  through  the  lengthen’d 
night, 

He  seriously  protested  all  was  right. 


RESIGNATION. 


221 


Since  dissipation  is  thy  only  joy, 

Go,  Grafton,  join  the  dance,  and  act  the  boy  ; 

*Tis  not  for  fops  in  cabinets  to  shine. 

And  justice  must  confess  that  title’s  thine. 

Dress  to  excess  and  powder  into  fame. 

In  drums  and  hurricanes  exalt  your  name. 

There  you  may  glitter,  there  your  worth  may  rise 
Above  the  little  reach  of  vulgar  eyes. 

But  in  the  high  departments  of  the  state 
Your  talents  are  too  trifling  to  be  great ; 

There  all  your  imperfections  rise  to  view, 

Not  Sandwich  so  contemptible  as  you. 

'Bute  from  the  summit  of  his  power  descried 
Your  glaring  inability  to  guide. 

And  mustering  every  rascal  in  his  gang. 

Who  might  for  merit  altogether  hang. 

From  the  black  catalogue  and  worthy  crew, 

The  jesuitical  and  scheming  few. 

Selected  by  the  leader  of  the  clan. 

Received  instructions  for  their  future  plan  ; 

And  after  proper  adoration  paid. 

Were  to  their  destin’d  sphere  of  state  convey’d. 
To  shine  the  Minister’s  satellites. 

Collect  his  light,  and  give  his  lordship  ease, 
Reform  his  crooked  politics,  and  draw 
A more  severe  attack  upon  the  law  ; 

Settle  his  erring  revolutions  right. 

And  give  in  just  proportion  day  and  night. 

Alas ! the  force  of  Scottish  pride  is  such, 

These  mushrooms  of  a day  presum’d  too  much  ; 


222 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Conscious  of  cunning  and  superior  arts, 

They  scorn’d  the  Minister’s  too  trifling  parts  ; 
Grafton  i ,sents  a treatment  so  unjust, 

And  damns  the  Carlton  Sibyl’s  fiery  lust. 

By  which  a scoundrel  Scot  opprest  the  realm. 
And  rogues,  below  contempt,  disgrac’d  the  helm- 
Swift  scandal  caught  the  accents  as  they  fell, 
And  bore  them  to  the  Sibyl’s  secret  cell. 

Enrag’d  she  wing’d  a messenger  to  Bute, 

Some  minister  more  able  to  depute  ; 

Her  character  and  virtue  was  a jest. 

Whilst  Grafton  was  of  useless  power  possest. 
This  done,  her  just  desire  of  vengeance  warm, 
She  gave  him  notice  of  the  bursting  storm  ; 
Timid  and  dubious,  Grafton  faced  about. 

And  trembled  at  the  thoughts  of  being  out. 

But  as  no  laws  the  Sibyl’s  power  confined 
He  dropped  his  blushing  honours  and  resign’d. 
Step  forward.  North ! and  let  the  doubtful  see 
Wonders  and  miracles  revived  in  thee. 

Did  not  the  living  witness  haunt  the  court. 

What  ear  had  given  faith  to  my  report  ? 

Amidst  the  rout  of  ministerial  slaves. 

Rogues  who  want  genius  to  refine  to  knaves, 
Who  could  imagine  that  the  wretch  most  base 
Should  fill  the  highest  infamy  of  place  ? 

That  North,  the  vile  domestic  of  a peer, 

Whose  name  an  Englishman  detests  to  hear. 
Should  leave  bis  trivial  share  of  Bedford’s 
gains. 

Become  a minister,  and  take  the  reins ; 


RESIGNATION. 


223 


And  from  the  meanest  of  the  gang  ascend 
Above  his  worthy  governor  and  friend  ? 

This  wondrous  metamorphose  of  an  hour 
Sufficiently  evinced  the  Sibyl’s  power 
To  ruin  nations,  little  rogues  to  raise, 

A virtue  supernatural  displays  ; 

What  but  a power  infernal  or  divine 

Could  honour  North,  or  make  his  grace  resign  ? 

Some  superficial  politicians  tell. 

When  Grafton  from  his  gilded  turret  fell ; 

The  Sibyl  substituted  North  a blank, 

A mustered  fagot  to  complete  the  rank. 

Without  a distant  thought  that  such  a tool 
Would  change  its  being  and  aspire  to  rule ; 

But  such  the  humble  North’s  indulgent  fate. 
When  striding  in  the  saddle  of  the  state, 

He  caught  by  inspiration  statesmanship, 

And  drove  the  slow  machine  and  smack’d  his  whip  ; 
Whilst  Bedford  wondering  at  his  sudden  skill 
With  reverence  view’d  the  packhorse  of  his  will 

His  Majesty  (the  buttons  thrown  aside) 
Declared  his  fix’d  intention  to  preside. 

No  longer  sacrificed  to  every  knave 

He’d  show  himself  discreet  as  well  as  brave ; 

In  every  cabinet  and  council  cause 
He’d  be  dictator  and  enforce  the  laws ; 

Whilst  North  should  in  his  present  office  stand 
As  understrapper  to  direct  his  hand. 


Jf24  ACKNOWLEDGED  POE3IS. 

Now,  Expectation,  now  extend  thy  wing ! 
Happy  the  land  whose  minister’s  a king ; 

Happy  the  king,  who  ruling  each  debate, 

Can  peep  through  every  roguery  of  state. 

See  Hope,  arrayed  in  robes  of  virgin  white, 
Trailing  an  arch’d  variety  of  light. 

Comes  showering  blessings  on  a ruin’d  realm, 
And  shows  the  crown’d  director  of  the  helm. 
Return,  fair  Goddess,  till  some  future  day, 

The  king  has  seen  the  error  of  his  way  ; 

And  by  his  smarting  shoulders  seem  to  feel 
The  wheel  of  state  is  not  a Catharine  wheel. 
Wise  by  experience,  general  nurse  of  fools. 

He  leaves  the  Ministry  to  venal  tools ; 

And  finds  his  happy  talents  better  suit 
The  making  buttons  for  his  favourite  Bute ; 

In  countenancing  the  unlawful  views 
Which  North,  the  delegate  of  Bute,  pursues ; 

In  glossing  with  authority  a train 
Whose  names  are  infamy,  and  objects  gain. 

Hail,  filial  duty ! great  if  rightly  used. 

How  little,  when  mistaken  and  abused ; 

View’d  from  one  point,  how  glorious  art  thou 
seen, 

From  others  how  degenerate  and  mean — 

A seraph  or  an  idiot’s  head  we  see  : 

Oft  on  the  latter  stands  the  type  of  thee. 

And  bowing  at  his  parent’s  knee  is  drest 
In  a long  hood  of  many  colour’d  vest. 


RESIGNATION. 


225 


The  sceptred  king  who  dignifies  a throne, 
Should  be  in  private  life  himself  alone  ; 

No  friend  or  mother  should  his  conscience  scan, 
Or  with  the  nation’s  head  confound  the  man. 
Like  juggling  Melchi  Zadok’s  priestish  plea, 
Collected  in  himself  a king  should  be. 

But  truths  may  be  unwelcome,  and  the  lay 
Which  shall  to  Royal  ears  such  truths  convey, 
The  conflagrations  of  the  hangman’s  ire 
May  roast  and  execute  with  foreign  fire. 

The  muse  who  values  safety  shall  return. 

And  sing  of  subjects  where  she  cannot  burn. 
Continue,  North,  thy  vile  burlesque  of  power, 
And  reap  the  harvest  of  the  present  hour  ; 
Collect  and  fill  thy  coffers  with  the  spoil, 

And  let  thy  gatherings  recompense  thy  toil. 
Whilst  the  rogues  out  revile  the  rascals  in. 
Repeat  the  proverb,  “ let  those  laugh  that  win  : ” 
Fleeting  and  transitory  is  the  date 
Of  sublunary  ministers  of  state ; 

Then  whilst  thy  summer  lasts,  prepare  thy 
hay. 

Nor  trust  to  autumn  and  a future  day. 

I leave  thee  now,  but  with  intent  to  trace 
The  villains  and  the  honest  men  of  place. 

The  first  are  still  assisting  in  thy  train 
To  aid  the  pillage  and  divide  the  gain. 

The  last  of  known  integrity  of  mind 
Forsook  a venal  party  and  resigned. 

VOL.  I.  15 


22G 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Come,  Satire  ! aid  me  to  display  the  first, 

Of  every  honest  Englishman  accurst ; 

Come,  Truth,  assist  me  to  prepare  the  lays. 
Where  worth  demands,  and  give  the  latter 
praise. 

Ingenious  Sandwich,  whither  dost  thou  fly 
To  shun  the  censure  of  the  public  eye  ? 

Dost  thou  want  matter  for  another  speech, 

Or  other  works  of  genius  to  impeach  ? 

Or  would  thy  insignificance  and  pride 
Presume  above  thyself  and  seek  to  guide  ? 
Pursue  thy  ignis-fatuus  of  power, 

And  call  to  thy  assistance  virtuous  Gower ; 

Set  Rigby’s  happy  countenance  in  play, 

To  vindicate  whatever  you  can  say. 

Then  when  you  totter  into  place  and  fame, 

With  double  infamy  you  brand  your  name. 

Say,  Sandwich,  in  the  winter  of  your  date, 

Can  you  ascend  the  hobby-horse  of  state  ? 

Do  titles  echo  grateful  in  your  ear  ? 

Or  is  it  mockery  to  call  you  peer  ? 

In silvered  age  to  play  the  fool. 

And with  rascals  infamous  a tool. 

Plainly  denote  your  judgment  is  no  more, 

Your  honour  was  extinguished  long  before. 

Say,  if  reflection  ever  blest  thy  mind. 

Hast  thou  one  real  friend  among  mankind  ? 

Thou  hadst  one  once,  free,  generous,  and  sincere 
Too  good  a senator  for  such  a peer ; 


RESIGNATION. 


227 


Him  thou  hast  offer’d  as  a sacrifice 
To  lewdness,  immorality,  and  vice ; 

Your  patronizing  scoundrels  set  the  gin. 

And  friendship  was  the  bait  to  draw  him  in. 
What  honourable  villain  could  they  find 
Of  Sandwich’s  latitudinary  mind  ? 

Though  intimacy  seemed  to  stop  the  way, 

You  they  employ’d  to  tempt  him  and  betray. 
Full  well  you  executed  their  commands. 

Well  you  deserved  the  pension  at  their  hands. 
For  you,  in  hours  of  trifling,  he  compiled 
A dissertation  blasphemous  and  wild. 

Be  it  recorded  too,  at  your  desire. 

He  called  for  demons  to  assist  his  lyre  ; 
Belying  on  your  friendship  soon  he  found 
How  dangerous  the  support  of  rotten  ground. 
In  your  infernal  attributes  array’d. 

You  seized  the  wish’d-for  poem  and  betray’d. 

Hail,  mighty  Twitcher ! can  my  feeble  lino 
Give  due  reward  to  merit  such  as  thine  ? 

Not  Churchill’s  keenest  satire  ever  reach’d 
The  conscience  of  the  rascal  who  impeach’d. 
My  humble  numbers  and  untutor’d  lay 
On  such  a harden’d  wretch  is  thrown  away  ; 

I leave  thee  to  the  impotent  delight 
Of  visiting  the  harlots  of  the  night ; 

Go,  hear  thy  nightingale’s  enchanting  strain, 
My  satire  shall  not  dart  a sting  in  vain. 

There  you  may  boast  one  sense  is  entertain’d, 
Though  age  present  y^ur  other  senses  pain’d  : 


228 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Go,  Sandwich,  if  thj  fire  of  lust  compel, 

Regale  at  Harrington’s  religious  cell, 

* * ♦ m # 

Exert  your  poor  endeavours  as  you  please, 

The  jest  and  bubble  of  the  harlot  crew, 

What  entertain’d  your  youth,  in  age  pursue. 
When  Grafton  shook  Oppression’s  iron  rod. 
Like  Egypt’s  lice,  the  instrument  of  God  ; 
Wlien  Camden,  driven  from  his  office,  saw 
The  last  weak  efforts  of  expiring  law ; 

Wlien  Bute,  the  regulator  of  the  state, 

Preferr’d  the  vicious,  to  supplant  the  great ; 
When  rank  corruption  through  all  orders  ran. 
And  infamy  united  Sawney’s  clan ; 

When  every  office  was  with  rogues  disgraced. 
And  the  Scotch  dialect  became  the  taste — 
Could  Beaufort  with  such  creatures  stay  behind 
No,  Beaufort  was  a Briton,  and  resign’d. 

Thy  resignation,  Somerset,  shall  shine 
When  time  hath  buried  the  recording  line. 

And  proudly  glaring  in  the  rolls  of  fame. 

With  more  than  titles  decorate  thy  name. 
Amidst  the  gather’d  rascals  of  the  age. 

Who  murder  noble  parts,  the  court  their  stage. 
One  nobleman  of  honesty  remains. 

Who  scorns  to  draw  in  ministerial  chains  ; 

Who  honours  virtue  and  his  country’s  peace, 
A^nd  sees  with  pity  grievances  increase  ; 

W’ho  bravely  left  all  sordid  views  of  place, 

And  lives  the  honour  of  the  Beaufort  race. 


RESIGNATION. 


220 


Deep  in  the  secret,  Barrington  and  Gower, 
Rais’d  upon  villainy,  aspire  to  power ; 

Big  with  importance  they  presume  to  rise 
Above  a minister  they  must  despise ; 

Whilst  Barrington  as  secretary  shows 
How  many  pensions  paid  his  blood  and  blows. 
And  Gower,  the  humbler  creature  of  the  two, 
Has  only  future  prospects  in  his  view. 

But  North  requires  assistance  from  the  great 
To  work  another  Button  in  the  state. 

That  Weymouth  may  complete  the  birtbdi\y 
suit. 

Full  trimm’d  by  Twitcher  and  cut  out  by  Bute. 
So  many  worthy  schemers  must  produce 
A statesman’s  coat  of  universal  use  ; 

Some  system  of  economy  to  save 
Another  million  for  another  knave. 

Some  plan  to  make  a duty,  large  before, 
Additionally  great  to  grind  the  poor. 

For  ’tis  a maxim  with  a guiding  wise. 

Just  as  the  commons  sink  the  rich  arise. 

If  ministers  and  privy  council  knaves  . 

Would  rest  contented  with  their  being  slaves, 
And  not  with  anxious  infamy  pursue 
Those  measures  which  will  fetter  others  too, 

The  swelling  cry  of  liberty  would  rest. 

Nor  Englishmen  complain,  nor  knaves  protest. 
But  courtiers  have  a littleness  of  mind, 

And,  Oxice  enslaved,  would  fetter  all  mankind. 


m 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


^Tis  to  this  narrowness  of  soul  we  owe 
What  further  ills  our  liberties  shall  know ; 

'Tis  from  this  principle  our  feuds  began, 
Fomented  by  the  Scots,  ignoble  clan  : • 

Strange  that  such  little  creatures  of  a tool. 

By  lust  and  not  by  merit  rais’d  to  rule. 

Should  sow  contention  in  a noble  land, 

And  scatter  thunders  from  a venal  hand. 

Gods  ! that  these  flyblows  of  a stallion’s  day. 
Warm’d  into  being  by  the  Sibyl’s  ray. 

Should  shake  the  constitution,  rights  and  laws, 
And  prosecute  the  man  of  freedom’s  cause ! 
Whilst  Wilkes  to  every  Briton’s  right  appeal’d, 
With  loss  of  liberty  that  right  he  seal’d : 
Imprison’d  and  oppress’d  he  persever’d, 

Nor  Sawney  or  his  powerful  Sibyl  fear’d. 

The  hag,  replete  with  malice  from  above. 

Shot  poison  on  the  screech-owl  of  her  love  ; 
Unfortunately  to  his  pen  ^ it  fell. 

And  flow’d  in  double  rancour  to  her  cell. 

Madly  she  raved,  to  ease  her  tortur’d  mind. 

The  object  of  her  hatred  is  confin’d : 

But  he,  supported  by  his  country’s  laws. 

Bid  her  defiance,  for  ’twas  Freedom’s  cause. 

Her  Treasurer  and  Talbot  fought  in  vain. 

Though  each  attain’d  his  favourite  object — gaim 
She  sat  as  usual  when  a project  fails. 

Damn’d  Chudleigh’s  phiz,  and  dined  upon  her  naila 

1 Doubtful. — Southey’s  Ed.  [Not  so.  The  MS.  is  suffl 
ciently  legible.] 


RESIGNATION. 


231 


Unhappy  land ! whose  govern’d  Monarch  sees 
Through  glasses  and  perspective  such  as  these, 
When  juggling  to  deceive  his  untried  sight, 

He  views  the  ministry  all  trammell’d  right ; 
Whilst  to  his  eye  the  other  glass  applied, 

His  subjects’  failings  are  all  magnified. 

Unheeded  the  petitions  are  received, 

Nor  one  retort  of  grievances  believed  ; 

’Tis  but  the  voice  of  faction  in  disguise 
That  blinds  with  liberty  the  people’s  eyes  : 

’Tis  riot  and  licentiousness  pursues 
Some  disappointed  placeman’s  private  views} 
And  shall  such  venal  creatures  steer  the  helm. 
Waving  Oppression’s  banners  round  the  realm  ? 
Shall  Briton’s  to  the  vile  detested  troop. 
Forgetting  ancient  honour,  meanly  stoop? 

Shall  we  our  rights  and  liberties  resign. 

To  lay  those  jewels  at  a woman’s  shrine  ? 

No : let  us  still  be  Britons : be  it  known. 

The  favours  we  solicit  are  our  own. 

Engage,  ye  Britons,  in  the  glorious  task. 

And  stronger  still  enforce  the  things  you  ask : 
Assert  your  rights,  remonstrate  with  the  throne, 
Insist  on  liberty,  and  that  alone. 

Alas  ! America,  thy  ruin’d  cause 
I^isplays  the  ministry’s  contempt  of  laws. 
Unrepresented  thou  art  tax’d,  excised. 

By  creatures  much  too  vile  to  be  despised  ; 


1 Omitted  in  the  MS. 


232  ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 

The  outcast  of  an  ousted  gang  are  sent, 

To  bless  thy  commerce,  with ^ government. 

Whilst  pity  rises  to  behold  thy  fate, 

We  see  thee  in  this  worst  of  troubles  great ; 
Whilst  anxious  for  thy  wavering  dubious  cause, 
We  give  thy  proper  spirit  due  applause. 

If  virtuous  Grafton’s  sentimental  taste. 

Is  in  his  measures  or  his  mistress  placed ; 

Li  either  ’tis  originally  rare. 

One  shows  the  midnight  cully,  one  the  peer: 
Review  him,  Britons,  with  a proper  pride, 

Was  this  a statesman  qualified  to  guide  ? 

Was  this  the  minister  whose  mighty  hand 
Has  scattered  civil  discord  through  the  land  ? 
Since  smallest  trifles  when  ordained  by  fate. 

Rise  into  power  and  counteract  the  great. 

What  shall  we  call  thee,  Grafton?  Fortune’s 
whip  ? 

Or  rather  the  burlesque  of  statesmanship  : 

When  daring  in  thy  insolence  of  place. 

Bold  in  an  empty  majesty  of  face. 

We  saw  thee  exercise  thy  magic  rod. 

And  form  a titled  villain  with  a nod ; 

Turn  out  the  virtuous,  airily  advance 
The  members  of  the  council  in  a dance. 

And  honouring  Sandwich  with  a serious  air^ 
Commend  the  fancy  of  his  solitaire. 


1 This  hiatus  occurs  in  the  MS. 

2 Omitted. 


RESIGNATION. 


233 


These  were  thy  actions,  worthy  of  record, 
Worthy  the  bubbled  wretch  and  venal  lord. 

Since  villainy  is  meritorious  grown, 

Step  forward,  for  thy  merit’s  not  unknown. 

What  Mansfield’s  conscience  shudder’d  to  receive. 
Thy  mercenary  temper  cannot  leave. 

Reversions,  pensions,  bribes  and  titled  stews  ; 
What  mortal  scoundrel  can  such  things  refuse  ^ 

If  Dunning’s  nice  integrity  of  mind, 

Will  not  in  pales  of  interest  be  confined  ; 

Let  his  uncommon  honesty  resign. 

And  boast  the  empty  pension  of  the  nine  : 

A Thurloe  grasping  every  offer’d  sti*aw. 

Shines  his  successor  and  degrades  the  law. 

How  like  the  ministry  who  link’d  his  chains, 

His  measures  tend  incessantly  to  gains. 

If  Weymouth  dresses  to  the  height  of  taste, 

At  once  with  fifty ^ places  laced. 

Can  such  a summer  insect  of  the  state. 

Be  otherwise  than  in  externals  great  ? 

Thou  bustling  marplot  of  each  hidden  plan. 

How  wilt  thou  answer  to  the  Sibyl’s  man  ? 

Did  thy  own  shallow  politics  direct. 

To  treat  the  Mayor  with  purposed  disrespect ; 

Or  did  it  come  in  orders  from  above. 

From  her  who  sacrificed  her  soul  to  love  ? 

Rigby,  whose  conscience  is  a perfect  dice, 

^ just  epitome  of  every  vice. 


’ A word  omitted  in  the  MS. 


234 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POE3IS. 


Replete  with  what  accomplishments  support 
The  empty  admiration  of  a court, 

Yet  wants  a barony  to  grace  record, 

And  hopes  to  lose  the  rascal  in  the  lord. 

His  wish  is  granted,  and  the  King  prepares 
A title  of  renown  to  brand  his  heirs. 

When  vice  creates  the  patent  for  a peer, 

W hat  lord  so  nominally  great  as  Clare  ? 

Whilst  Chatham  from  his  coroneted  oak 
Unheeded  shook  the  senate  with  his  croak  ; 

The  minister  too  powerful  to  be  right. 

Laugh’d  at  his  prophecy  and  second  sight, 

Since  Mother  Ship  ton’s  oracle  of  state 
Forestall’d  the  future  incidents  of  fate. 

Grafton  might  shake  his  elbows,  dance  and  dream 
’Twere  labour  lost  to  strive  against  the  stream. 
If  Grafton  in  his  juggling  statesman’s  game 
Bubbled  for  interest,  betted  but  for  fame. 

The  leader  of  the  treasury  could  pay 
For  every  loss  in  politics  and  play. 

Sir  Fletcher’s  noisy  eloquence  of  tongue 
Is  on  such  pliant  oily  hinges  hung. 

Turn’d  to  all  points  of  politics  and  doubt, 

But  though  fo^’ever  worsted,  never  out. 

Can  such  a wretchc  1 creature  take  the  chair 
And  exercise  his  new  made  power  with  air  ? 
This  worthy  speaker  of  a worthy  crew. 

Can  write  long  speeches  and  repeat  them  too  : 

A practis’d  lawyer  in  the  venal  court. 

From  higher  powers  he  borrows  his  report ; 


RESIGNATION. 


235 


A^bove  tlie  scandalous  aspersion  tool, 

He  only  squares  his  conscience  by  a ruie. 

Granby,  too  great  to  join  the  hated  cause, 

Throws  down  his  useless  truncheon  and  withdraws ; 
Whilst  unrenowned  for  military  deeds, 

A youthful  branch  of  royalty  succeeds. 

Let  Coventry,  Yonge,  Palmerston,  and  Brett, 
With  resignation  pay  the  crown  a debt ; 

If  in  return  for  offices  of  trust. 

The  ministry  expect  you’ll  prove  unjust. 

What  soul  that  values  freedom  could  with  ease, 
Stoop  under  obhgations  such  as  these. 

If  you  a Briton,  every  virtue  dead. 

That  would  upon  your  dying  freedom  tread. 

List  in  the  gang  and  piously  procure. 

To  make  your  calling  and  election  sure : 

Go,  flatter  Sawn#y  for  his  jockey  ship. 

Assist  in  each  long  shuffle,  hedge  and  slip. 

Thus  rising  on  the  stilts  of  favour  see 
What  Grafton  was,  and  future  dukes  will  be : 
How  Bigby,  Weymouth,  Barrington  began 
To  juggle  into  fame  and  play  the  man. 

Amidst  this  general  rage  of  turning  out. 

What  officer  will  stand,  remains  a doubt. 

If  virtue’s  an  objection  at  the  board. 

With  what  propriety  the  council’s  stored  j 
Where  could  the  Caledonian  minion  find 
Such  striking  copies  of  his  venal  mind  ? 


23G 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Search  through  the  winding  labyrinths  of  place, 
See  all  alike  politically  base. 

If  virtues,  foreign  to  the  office,  shine. 

How  fast  the  prodigies  of  state  resign ! 

Still  as  they  drop,  the  rising  race  begin 
To  boast  the  infamy  of  being  in. 

And  generous  Bristol,  constant  to  his  friend, 
Employs  his  lifted  crutches  to  ascend. 

Look  round  thee.  North ! see  what  a glorious 
scene — 

0 let  no  thought  of  vengeance  intervene : 

Throw  thy  own  insignificance  aside, 

And  swell  in  self-importance,  power,  and  pride. 
See  Holland  easy  with  his  pilfer’d  store, 

See  Bute  intriguing  how  to  pilfer  more. 

See  Grafton’s  coffers  boast  the  wealth  of  place, 

A provident  reserve  to  hedge  a race. 

New  to  oppression  and  the  servile  chain. 

Hark  how  the  wrong’d  Americans  complain. 
'Whilst  unregarded  the  petitions  lie. 

And  Liberty  unnoticed  swells  her  cry  ; 

Yet,  yet  reflect,  thou  despicable  thing, 

How  wavering  is  the  favour  of  a king ; 

Think,  since  that  feeble  fence  and  Bute  is  all, 
How  soon  thy  humbug  farce  of  state  may  fall ; 
Then  catch  the  present  moment  while  ’tis  thine. 
Implore  a noble  pension,  and  resign. 


JOURNAL  6t!i. 


Saturday,  September  30,  1769.^ 

^Pis  mystery  all,  in  every  sect 
You  find  this  palpable  defect, 

The  axis  of  the  dark  machine 
Is  enigmatic  and  unseen. 

Opinion  is  the  only  guide 
By  which  our  senses  are  supplied. 
Mere  grief’s  conjecture,  fancy’s  whim, 
Can  make  our  reason  side  with  him. 
But  this  discourse  perhaps  will  be 
As  little  liked  by  you  as  me, 

I’ll  change  the  subject  for  a better, 

And  leave  the  Doctor,  and  his  letter. 

A priest  whose  sanctimonious  face 
Became  a sermon,  or  a grace, 

Could  take  an  orthodox  repast, 

And  left  the  knighted  loin  the  last ; 

To  fasting  very  little  bent, 

He’d  pray  indeed  till  breath  was  spent. 
Shrill  was  his  treble  as  a cat. 

His  organs  being  chok’d  with  fat ; 


I Copied  from  a Poem  in  Chatterton’s  handwriting  in  the 
ttr.tish  M;iseum. 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


In  college  quite  as  graceful  seen 
As  Camplin  or  the  lazy  Dean, 

(Who  sold  the  ancient  cross  to  Hoare 
For  one  church  dinner,  nothing  more, 
The  Dean  who  sleeping  on  the  book 
Dreams  he  is  swearing  at  his  cook.) 

This  animated  hill  of  oil. 

Was  to  another  dean  the  foil. 

They  seem’d  two  beasts  of  different  kind, 
Contra  in  politics  and  mind. 

The  only  sympathy  they  knew. 

They  both  lov’d  turtle  a-la-stew. 

The  Dean  was  empty,  thin  and  long, 

As  Fowler’s  back  or  head  or  song. 

He  met  the  Rector  in  the  street. 

Sinking  a canal  with  his  feet. 

‘‘  Sir,”  quoth  the  Dean,  with  solemn  nod, 
You  are  a minister  of  God ; 

And,  as  I apprehend,  should  be 
About  such  holy  works  as  me. 

But,  cry  your  mercy,  at  a feast 
You  only  show  yourself  a priest. 

No  sermon  politic  you  preach. 

No  doctrine  damnable  you  teach. 

Did  not  we  few  maintain  the  fight, 
Mystery  might  sink  and  all  be  light. 
From  house  to  house  your  appetite 
In  daily  sojourn  paints  ye  right. 

Nor  lies  true  orthodox  you  carry, 

You  hardly  ever  hang  or  marry. 


JOURNAL. 


239 


Good  Mr.  Rector  let  me  tell  je 
You’ve  too  much  tallow  in  this  belly. 

Fast,  and  repent  of  ev’ry  sin, 

And  grow  like  me,  upright  and  thin  ; 

Be  active,  and  assist  your  mother. 

And  then  I’ll  own  ye  for  a brother.” 

‘‘  Sir,”  quoth  the  Rector  in  a huff, 

“ True,  you’re  diminutive  enough. 

And  let  me  tell  ye,  Mr.  Dean, 

You  are  as  worthless  too  as  lean  ; 

This  mountain  strutting  to  my  face 
Is  an  undoubted  sign  of  grace. 

Grace,  tho’  you  ne’er  on  turtle  sup. 

Will  like  a bladder  blow  you  up, 

A tun  of  claret  swells  your  case 
Less  than  a single  ounce  of  grace.” 

‘‘You’re  wrong,”  the  bursting  Dean  re- 
plied, 

“ You’re  logic’s  on  the  roughcast  side, 

The  minor’s  right,  the  major  falls. 

Weak  as  his  modern  honour’s  walls. 

A spreading  trunk,  with  rotten  skin. 

Shows  very  little’s  kept  within ; 

But  when  the  casket’s  neat,  not  large, 

We  guess,  th’  importance  of  the  charge  ” 

“ Sir,”  quoth  the  Rector,  “ I’ve  a story 
Quite  apropos  to  lay  before  ye. 


240 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


A sage  philosopher  to  try 
That  pupil  saw  with  reason’s  eye, 
Prepar’d  three  boxes,  gold,  lead,  stone. 
And  bid  three  youngsters  claim  each  one. 
The  first,  a Bristol  merchant’s  heir. 

Loved  pelf  above  the  charming  fair  ; 

So  ’tis  not  difficult  to  say. 

Which  box  the  dolthead  took  away. 

The  next,  as  sensible  as  me. 

Desired  the  pebbled  one,  d’ye  see. 

The  other  having  scratch’d  his  head. 
Consider’d  though  the  third  was  lead, 
’Twas  metal  still  surpassing  stone. 

So  claimed  the  leaden  box  his  own. 

Now  to  unclose  they  all  prepare. 

And  hope  alternate  laughs  at  fear. 

The  golden  case  does  ashes  hold. 

The  leaden  shines  with  sparkling  gold. 
But  in  the  outcast  stone  they  see 
A jewel, — such  pray  fancy  me.” 

Sir,”  quoth  the  Dean,  “ I truly  say 
You  tell  a tale  a pretty  way ; 

But  the  conclusion  to  allow — 

’Fore-gad,  I scarcely  can  tell  how. 

A jewel ! Fancy  must  be  strong 
To  think  you  keep  your  water  long. 

I preach,  thank  gracious  heaven ! as  clear 
As  any  pulpit  stander  here. 

But  may  the  devil  claw  my  face 


JOURNAL. 


241 


If  e’er  I pray’d  for  puffing  grace, 

To  be  a mountain,  and  to  carry 
Such  a vile  heap — I’d  rather  marry  ! 

Each  day  to  sweat  three  gallons  full 
And  span  a furlong  on  my  skull. 

Lost  to  the  melting  joys  of  love — 

Not  to  be  borne — like  justice  move.” 

And  here  the  Dean  was  running  on, 
Through  half  a couplet  having  gone  : 

Quoth  Rector  peevish,  I sha’nt  stay 
To  throw  my  precious  time  away. 

The  gen’rous  Burgum  having  sent 
A ticket  as  a compliment, 

I think  myself  in  duty  bound 
Six  pounds  of  turtle  to  confound.” 

“ That  man  you  mention,”  answers  Dean, 
Creates  in  priests  of  sense  the  spleen, 

His  soul’s  as  open  as  his  hand. 

Virtue  distrest  may  both  command ; 

That  ragged  virtue  is  a whore, 

I always  beat  her  from  my  door. 

But  Burgum  gives,  and  giving  shows 
His  honour  leads  him  by  the  nose. 

Ah ! how  unlike  the  church  divine. 

Whose  feeble  lights  on  mountains  shine, 
And  being  placed  so  near  the  sky, 

Are  lost  to  every  human  eye. 

VOL.  I.  16 


242 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


His  luminaries  shine  around 

Like  stars  in  the  Cimmerian  ground.^’ 

‘‘  Invidious  slanderer  ! ” quoth  priest, 

0 may  I never  scent  a feast, 

If  thy  curst  conscience  is  as  pure 
As  underlings  in  Whitfield’s  cure. 

The  church,  as  thy  display  has  shown, 

Is  turn’d  a bawd  to  lustful  town ; 

But  what  against  the  church  you’ve  said, 
Shall  soon  fall  heavy  on  your  head. 

Is  Burgum’s  virtue  then  a fault  ? 

Ven’son,  and  heaven  forbid  the  thought ! 
He  gives,  and  never  eyes  return, 

O may  paste  altars  to  him  burn ! 

But  whilst  I talk  with  worthless  you, 
Perhaps  the  dinner  waits adieu.” 

This  said,  the  Rector  trudg’d  along, 

As  heavy  as  Fowlerian  song. 

The  hollow  Dean  with  fairy  feet, 

Stept  lightly  through  the  dirty  street. 

At  last,  arriv’d  at  destin’d  place. 

The  bulky  Doctor  squeaks  the  grace  : 
Lord  bless  the  many-flavour’d  meat. 

And  grant  us  strength  enough  to  eat ! 

May  all  and  every  mother’s  son 
Be  drunk  before  the  dinner’s  done. 

When  we  give  thanks  for  dining  well,  oh  1 
May  each  grunt  out  in  Ritornello.” 


JOURNAL. 


243 


Amen  ! resounds  to  distant  tide, 

And  weapons  clang  on  every  side, 

The  oily  river  burns  around 
And  gnashing  teeth  make  doleful  sound. 
Now  is  the  busy  President 
In  his  own  fated  element. 

In  every  look  and  action  great, 

His  presence  doubly  fills  the  plate. 
Nobly  invited  to  the  feast. 

They  all  contribute  gold  at  least. 

The  Duke  and  President  collected, 
Alike  beloved,  alike  respected. 


Say,  Baker,  if  experience  hoar  ^ 

Has  yet  unbolted  wisdom’s  door. 

What  is  this  phantom  of  the  mind. 

This  love,  when  sifted  and  refined  ? 

When  the  poor  lover  fancy-frighted 
Is  with  shadowy  joys  delighted  : 

A frown  shall  throw  him  in  despair ; 

A smile  shall  brighten  up  his  air. 

Jealous  without  a seeming  cause 
From  flatt’ring  smiles  he  misery  draws ; 
Again  without  his  reason’s  aid. 

His  bosom’s  still,  the  devil’s  laid. 

1 This  Poem  immediately  follows  the  other.  It  has  no 
title,  and  is  written  upon  the  same  paper,  a whole  sheet, 
folded  into  four  columns. 


21i 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


If  this  is  love,  my  callous  heart 
Has  never  felt  the  rankling  dart. 

Oft  have  I seen  the  wounded  swain, 

Upon  the  rack  of  pleasing  pain, 

Full  of  his  flame,  upon  his  tongue 
The  quivering  declaration  hung. 

When  lost  to  courage,  sense,  and  reason, 
H 3 talk’d  of  weather  and  the  season. 

Such  tremors  never  coward  me. 

I’m  flattering,  impudent  and  free. 

Unmov’d  by  frowns  and  low’ring  eyes, 

’Tis  smiles  I only  ask  and  prize. 

And  when  the  smile  is  freely  given, 
You’re  in  the  highway  road  to  heaven. 
These  coward  lovers  seldom  find 
That  whining  makes  the  ladies  kind. 

They  laugh  at  silly  silent  swains 
Who’re  fit  for  nothing  but  their  chains. 
’Tis  an  effrontery  and  tongue 
On  very  oily  hinges  hung 
Must  win  the  blooming,  melting  fair. 

And  show  the  joys  of  heaven  here. 

A rake,  I take  it,  is  a creature 
Who  winds  through  all  the  folds  of  nature. 
Who  sees  the  passions,  and  can  tell 
How  the  soft  beating  heart  shall  swell; 
Who,  when  he  ravishes  the  joy. 

Defies  the  torments  of  the  boy. 

Who  with  the  soul  the  body  gains 
And  sliares  love’s  pleasures,  not  his  pains. 


JOUllNAL, 


245 


Who  holds  his  charmer’s  reputation 
Above  a tavern  veneration  ; 

And  when  a love  repast  he  makes, 
Not  even  prying  fame  partakes. 

Who  looks  above  a prostitute,  he 
Thinks  love  the  only  price  of  beauty  ; 
And  she  that  can  be  basely  sold, 

Is  much  beneath  or  love  or  gold. 

Who  thinks  the  almost  dearest  part 
In  all  the  body  is  the  heart : 

Without  it  rapture  cannot  rise. 

Nor  pleasures  wanton  in  the  eyes ; 
The  sacred  joy  of  love  is  dead. 
Witness  the  sleeping  marriage  bed. 
This  is  the  picture  of  a rake. 

Show  it  the  ladies — won’t  it  take  ? ^ 


1 Those  who  have  sullied  the  youth  of  Chatterton  with  the 
imputation  of  extraordinary  ^ices  or  irregularities,  and  have 
asserted,  that  “ his  profligacy  was,  at  least,  as  conspicuous 
as  his  abilities,”  have,  I conceive,  rather  grounded  these 
assertions  on  the  apparently  profane  and  immoral  tendency 
of  some  of  his  productions,  than  on  personal  knowledge,  or 
a correct  review  of  his  conduct.  During  his  residence  at 
Bristol,  we  have  the  most  respectable  evidence  in  favour  of 
the  regularity  of  his  conduct,  namely,  that  of  his  master, 
Mr.  Lambert.  Of  few  young  men  in  his  situation  it  can  be 
laid,  that  during  a course  of  nearly  three  years,  he  seldom 
encroached  upon  the  strict  limits  which  were  assigned  him, 
with  respect  to  his  hours  of  liberty;  that  his  master  could 
never  accuse  him  of  improper  behaviour,  and  that  he  had 
^lie  utmost  reason  to  be  satisfied  he  never  spent  his  hours  of 
eisure  in  any  but  respectable  company. 

Mrs.  Newton,  with  that  unaffected  simplicity  uhicli  sc 


246 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


A buck’s  a beast  of  th’  otherside, 

And  real  but  in  hoofs  and  hide : 

eminently  characterizes  her  letter,  most  powerfully  contro- 
verts the  obloquy  which  had  been  thrown  upon  her  brother's 
memory.  She  says,  that  while  he  was  at  Mr.  Lambert’s,  ho 
visited  his  mother  regularly  most  evenings  before  nine 
o’clock,  and  they  were  seldom  two  evenings  together  without 
seeing  him.  He  was  for  a considerable  time  remarkably 
indifferent  to  females.  He  declared  to  his  sister  that  he  had 
always  seen  the  whole  sex  with  perfect  indifference,  except 
those  whom  nature  had  rendered  dear.  He  remarked,  at  the 
same  time,  the  tendency  of  severe  study  to  sour  the  temper, 
and  indicated  his  inclination  to  form  an  acquaintance  with 
a young  female  in  the  neighbourhood,  apprehending  that  it 
might  soften  that  austerity  of  temper  which  had  resulted 
from  solitary  study.  The  juvenile  Petrarch  wanted  a Laura, 
to  polish  his  manners  and  exercise  his  fancy.  He  addressed 
a poem  to  Miss  Rumsey;  and  they  commenced,  Mrs.  Newton 
adds,  a corresponding  acquaintance.  He  would  also  fre- 
quently,” she  says,  “ walk  the  College-Green  with  the  young 
girls  that  statedly  paraded  there  to  show  their  finery;  ” but 
she  is  persuaded  that  the  reports  which  charge  him  with  lib- 
ertinism are  ill-founded.  She  could  not  perhaps  have  added  a 
better  proof  of  it,  than  his  inclination  to  associate  with  modest 
women.  The  testimony  of  Mr.  Thistlethwaite  is  not  less  ex- 
plicit or  less  honourable  to  Chatterton.  “ The  opportunities,” 
says  he,  “ which  a long  acquaintance  with  him  afforded  me, 
justify  me  in  saying,  that  whilst  he  lived  at  Bristol,  he  was 
(lot  the  debauched  character  he  has  been  represented.  Tem- 
perate in  his  living,  moderate  in  his  pleasures,  and  regular  in 
his  exercises,  he  was  undeserving  of  the  aspersion.  I admit 
that  amongst  his  papers  may  be  found  many  passages,  not 
only  immoral,  but  bordering  upon  a libertinism,  gross  and 
unpardonable.  It  is  not  my  intention  to  attempt  a vindica- 
tion of  those  passages,  which,  for  the  regard  I bear  his 
memory,  I wish  he  had  never  written ; but  which  I neverthe- 
less believe  to  have  originated  rather  from  a warmth  of 
Imagination,  aided  by  a vain  affectation  of  singularity,  than 


JOURNAL. 


247 


To  nature  and  the  passions  dead, 

A brothel  is  his  house  and  bed  ; 

To  fan  the  flame  of  warm  desire 
And  after  wanton  in  the  fire, 

He  thinks  a labour,  and  his  parts 
Were  not  designed  to  conquer  hearts. 

« # # « * 

The  girls  of  virtue  when  he  views, 

Dead  to  all  converse  but  the  stews, 

Silent  as  death,  he’s  nought  to  say 
But  sheepish  steals  himself  away. 

This  is  a buck  to  life  display’d, 

A character  to  charm  each  maid. 

Now,  prithee,  friend,  a choice  to  make, 
Wouldst  choose  the  buck  before  the  rake  ? 
The  buck,  as  brutal  as  the  name. 

Invenoms  every  charmer’s  fame  ; 

And  though  he  never  touch’d  her  hand 
Pi;o tests  he  had  her  at  command. 

The  rake  in  gratitude  for  pleasure 
Keeps  reputation  dear  as  treasure. 

* # * * ♦ 

\_After  these  asterisks  follows^  without  title, 

But  Hudibrastics  may  be  found 
To  tire  ye  with  repeated  sound; 

So,  changing  for  a Shandeyan  style, 

I ask  your  favour  and  your  smile. 

^om  any  natural  depravity,  or  from  a heart  vitiated  by  evil 
t)xamDle." — Dr.  Gregory. 


• 248 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


ODE. 

Recitative,  ^ 

In  his  wooden  palace  jumping, 

Tearing,  sweating,  bawling,  thumping, 
Repent,  repent,  repent. 

The  mighty  Whitfield  cries. 

Oblique  lightning  in  his  eyes. 

Or  die  and  be  damn’d  ! all  around 
The  long-ear’d  rabble  grunt  in  dismal  sounds 
Repent,  repent,  repent. 

Each  concave  mouth  replies. 

The  comet  of  gospel,  the  lantern  of  light, 

Is  rising  and  shining 
Like  candles  at  night. 

He  shakes  his  ears. 

He  jumps,  he  stares  ; 

Hark,  he’s  whining. 

The  shorthand  saints  prepare  to  write, 

And  high  they  mount  their  ears. 

Air. 

Now  the  devil  take  ye  all. 

Saints  or  no  saints,  all  in  a lump ; 

Here  must  I labour  and  bawl. 

And  thump,  and  thump,  and  thump ; 

And  never  a souse  to  be  got, 

Unless — I swear  by  jingo, 

A greater  profit’s  made 
I’ll  forswear  my  trade, 


JOURNAL. 


219 


My  gown  and  market  lingo, 

And  leave  ye  all  to  pot. 

Recitative, 

Now  he  raves  like  brindled  cat, 

Now  ’tis  thunder, 

Rowling, 

Growling, 

Rumbling, 

Grumbling, 

Noise  and  nonsense,  jest  and  blunder. 

Now  he  chats  of  this  and  that. 

No  more  the  soul  jobber. 

No  more  the  sly  robber. 

He’s  now  an  old  woman  who  talks  to  hei 
cat. 

Again  he  starts,  he  beats  his  breast 
He  rolls  his  eyes,  erects  his  chest ; 

Hark ! hark  ! the  sound  begins, 

’Tis  a bargain  and  sale  for  remission  of  sins. 

Air. 

Say,  beloved  congregation. 

In  the  hour  of  tribulation. 

Did  the  power  of  man  affray  me  ? 

Say  ye  wives,  and  say  ye  daughters. 
Han’t  I stanch’d  your  running  waters  ? 

I have  labour’d — pay  me — pay  me  I 
I have  given  absolution, 

Dont  withhold  your  contribution ; 


250 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Men  and  angels  should  obey  me — 
Give  but  freely,  you’ve  remission 
For  all  sins  without  condition  ; 
You’re  my  debtors,  pay  me,  pay  me ! 


Recitative. 

Again  he’s  lost,  again  he  chatters 
Of  lace  and  bobbin  and  such  matters. 

A thickening  vapor  swells — 

Of  Adam’s  fall  he  tells. 

Dark  as  twice  ten  thousand  hells 
Is  the  gibberish  which  he  spatters. 

Now  a most  dismal  elegy  he  sings, 

Groans,  doleful  groans  are  heard  about ; 
The  Issacharian  rout 

Swell  the  sharp  howl,  and  loud  the  sorrow 
rings. 

He  sung  a modern  buck  whose  end 
Was  blinded  prejudice  and  zeal. 

In  life  to  every  vice  a friend. 

Unfix’d  as  fortune  on  her  wheel. 

He  lived  a buck,  he  died  a fool, 

So  let  him  to  oblivion  fall. 

Who  thought  a wretched  body  all. 
Untaught  in  nature’s  or  the  passion’s  school 
Now  he  takes  another  theme, 

Thus  he  tells  his  waking  dream. 


JOURNAL. 


251 


Air. 

After  fasting  and  praying  and  grunting  and 
weeping, 

My  guardian  angel  beheld  me  fast  sleeping ; 
And  instantly  capering  into  my  brain, 

Relieved  me  from  prison  of  bodily  chain. 

The  soul  can  be  every  thing  as  you  all  know, 
And  mine  was  transform’d  to  the  shape  of  a 
crow. 

(The  preacher  or  metre  has  surely  mistook. 
For  all  must  confess  that  a parson’s  a rook.) 
Having  wings,  as  I think  I inform’d  ye  before, 
I shot  through  a cavern  and  knock’d  at  hell’s 
door. 

Out  comes  Mr.  Porter  Devil, 

And,  I’ll  assure  ye,  very  civil. 

Dear  sir,”  quoth  he,  ‘‘  pray  step  within, 
The  company  is  drinking  tea ; 

We  have  a stranger  just  come  in, 

A brother  from  the  triple  tree.” 

Well,  in  I walk’d,  and  what  d’ye  think? 
Instead  of  sulphur,  fire  and  stink, 

’Twas  like  a masquerade. 

All  grandeur,  all  parade. 

Here  stood  an  amphitheatre. 

There  stood  the  small  Haymarket-house, 
With  devil  actors  very  clever. 

Who  without  blacking  did  Othello. 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


And  truly  a huge  horned  fellow 
Told  me,  he  hoped  I would  endeavour 
To  learn  a part,  and  get  a souse, 

For  pleasure  was  the  business  there. 

A lawyer  ask’d  me  for  a fee, 

To  plead  my  right  to  drinking  tea ; 

I begg’d  his  pardon,  to  my  thinking 
I’d  rather  have  a cheering  cup, 

For  tea  was  but  insipid  drinking. 

And  brandy  rais’d  the  spirits  up. 

So  having  seen  a place  in  hell, 

I straight  awoke,  and  found  all  welL 

Recitative. 

Now  again  his  cornets  sounding, 

Sense  and  harmony  confounding, 

Reason  tortur’d,  scripture  twisted, 

Into  every  form  of  fancy  : 

Forms  which  never  yet  existed. 

And  but  his  oblique  optics  can  see. 

He  swears, 

He  tears, 

With  sputter’d  nonsense  now  he  breaks  the 
ears ; 

At  last  the  sermon  and  the  paper  ends  ; 

He  whines,  and  hopes  his  well-beloved  friends 
Will  contribute  their  souse 
To  pay  the  arrears  for  building  a house. 
With  spiritual  doctors,  and  doctors  for  poxes. 


ELEGY. 


253 


Who  all  must  be  satisfied  out  of  the  boxes. 

Hark  ! hark ! — his  cry  resounds, 

Fire  and  thunder,  blood  and  wounds. 
Contribute,  contribute, 

And  pay  me  my  tribute, 

Or  the  devil,  I swear. 

Shall  hunt  ye  as  sportsmen  would  hunt  a poor 
hare. 

Whoever  gives,  unto  the  Lord  he  lends. 

The  saint  is  melted,  pays  his  fee,  and  wends  ; 
And  here  the  tedious  lengthening  Journal 
ends. 


ELEGY.1 

Why  blooms  the  radiance  of  the  morning  sky  ? 

Why  spring  the  beauties  of  the  season  round  ? 
Why  buds  the  blossom  with  the  glossy  dye  ? 

Ah ! why  does  nature  beautify  the  ground  ? 

Whilst  softly  fioating  on  the  zephyr’s  wing. 

The  melting  accents  of  the  thrushes  rise ; 

And  all  the  heavenly  music  of  the  spring. 

Steal  on  the  sense,  and  harmonize  the  skies. 

1 This  poem  was  printed  in  the  Town  and  Country  Maga- 
Bine  for  February,  1770,  and  was  signed  with  Chattertoir#i 
initials,  and  dated  Shoreditch. 


254 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


When  the  rack’d  soul  is  not  attuned  to  joy, 

When  sorrow  an  internal  monarch  reigns  ; 

In  vain  the  choristers  their  powers  employ, 

’Tis  hateful  music,  and  discordant  strains. 

The  velvet  mantle  of  the  skirted  mead. 

The  rich  varieties  of  Flora’s  pride. 

Till  the  full  bosom  is  from  trouble  freed. 

Disgusts  the  eye,  and  bids  the  big  tear  glide. 

Once,  ere  the  gold-hair’d  sun  shot  the  new  ray 
Through  the  gray  twilight  of  the  dubious  morn, 

To  woodlands,  lawn,  and  hills,  I took  my  way. 
And  list’ned  to  the  echoes  of  the  horn  ; 

Dwelt  on  the  prospect,  sought  the  varied  view. 
Traced  the  meanders  of  the  bubbling  stream : 

From  joy  to  joy,  uninterrupted  flew. 

And  thought  existence  but  a fairy  dream. 

Now  through  the  gloomy  cloister’s  length’ning  way 
Through  all  the  terror  superstition  frames, 

I lose  the  minutes  of  the  lingering  day. 

And  view  the  night  light  up  her  pointed  flames. 

I dare  the  danger  of  the  mould’ring  wall, 

Nor  heed  the  arch  that  totters  o’er  my  head  : 

0 ! quickly  may  the  friendly  ruin  fall. 

Release  me  of  my  love,  and  strike  me  dead. 


CLIFTON. 


255 


M ! cruel,  sweet,  inexorable  fair, 

O ! must  I uuregarded  seek  the  grave  ! 

Must  I from  all  my  bosom  holds  repair. 

When  one  indulgent  smile  from  thee  would  save. 

Let  mercy  plead  my  cause  ; and  think,  oh  ! think  1 
A love  like  mine  but  ill  deserves  thy  hate  : 
Remember,  I am  tottering  on  the  brink. 

Thy  smile  or  censure  seals  my  final  fate. 


CLIFTON.^ 

Clifton,  sweet  village  ! now  demands  the  lay, 
The  lov’d  retreat  of  all  the  rich  and  gay ; 

The  darling  spot  which  pining  maidens  seek, 

To  give  health’s  roses  to  the  pallid  cheek. 

Warm  from  its  fount  the  holy  water  pours, 

A^nd  lures  the  sick  to  Clifton’s  neighbouring 
bowers. 

Ijet  bright  Hygeia  her  glad  reign  resume. 

And  o’er  each  sickly  form  renew  her  bloom. 

Me,  whom  no  fell  disease  this  hour  compels 
To  visit  Bristol’s  celebrated  wells, 

1 From  a copy  in  Chatt<irton’s  handwriting  in  the  British 
Museum. 


256 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Far  other  motives  prompt  my  eager  view  ; 

My  heart  can  here  its  fav’rite  bent  pursue  ; 
Here  can  I gaze,  and  pause,  and  muse  between, 
And  draw  some  moral  truth  from  ev’ry  scene. 
Yon  dusky  rocks,  that,  from  the  stream  arise 
In  rude  rough  grandeur,  threat  the  distant  skies, 
Seem  as  if  nature  in  a painful  throe. 

With  dire  convulsions,  laboring  to  and  fro, 

(To  give  the  boiling  waves  a ready  vent) 

At  one  dread  stroke  the  solid  mountain  rent ; 
The  huge  cleft  rocks  transmit  to  distant  fame, 
Tlie  sacred  gilding  of  a good  saint’s  name. 

Now  round  the  varied  scene  attention  turns 
Her  ready  eye — my  soul  with  ardour  burns ; 
For  on  that  spot  my  glowing  fancy  dwells, 
Where  Cenotaph  its  mournful  story  tells — 

How  Britain’s  heroes,  true  to  honour’s  laws. 
Fell,  bravely  fighting  in  their  country’s  cause. 
But  though  in  distant  fields  your  limbs  are  laid, 
In  fame’s  long  list  your  glories  ne’er  will  fade  ; 
But  blooming  still  beyond  the  gripe  of  death, 
Fear  not  the  blast  of  time’s  inclouding  breath. 
Tour  generous  leader  rais’d  this  stone  to  say. 
You  follow’d  still  where  honour  led  the  way : 
And  by  this  tribute,  which  his  pity  pays. 

Twines  his  own  virtues  with  his  soldiers’  praise. 
Now  Brandon’s  cliffs  my  wand’ring  gazes  meet, 
Whose  craggy  surface  mocks  the  ling’ring  feet ; 
Queen  Bess’s  gift,  (so  ancient  legends  say) 

To  Bristol’s  fair ; where  to  the  sun’s  warm  ray 


CLIFTON. 


257 


On  the  rough  bush  the  linen  white  they  spread, 
Or  deck  with  russet  leaves  the  mossy  bed. 

Here  as  I musing  take  my  pensive  stand, 
Whilst  evening  shadows  lengthen  o’er  the  land, 
O’er  the  wide  landscape  cast  the  circling  eye, 
llow  ardent  mem’ry  prompts  the  fervid  sigh ; 
O’er  the  historic  page  my  fancy  runs. 

Of  Britain’s  fortunes — of  her  valiant  sons. 

Yon  castle,  erst  of  Saxon  standards  proud. 

Its  neighbouring  meadows  dyed  with  Danish 
blood. 

Then  of  its  later  fate  a view  I take : 

Here  the  sad  monarch  lost  his  hope’s  last  stake  ; 
When  Rupert  bold,  of  well  achieved  renown. 
Stain’d  all  the  fame  his  former  prowess  won. 

But  for  its  ancient  use  no  more  employ’d. 

Its  walls  all  moulder’d  and  its  gates  destroy’d ; 

In  history’s  roll  it  still  a shade  retains. 

Though  of  the  fortress  scarce  a stone  remains. 
Eager  at  length  I strain  each  aching  limb. 

And  breathless  now  the  mountain’s  summit  climb. 
Here  does  attention  her  fixed  gaze  renew. 

And  of  the  city  takes  a nearer  view. 

The  yellow  Avon,  creeping  at  my  side. 

In  sullen  billows  rolls  a muddy  tide  ; 

No  sportive  Naiads  on  her  streams  are  seen. 

No  cheerful  pastimes  deck  the  gloomy  scene ; 
Fixed  in  a stupor  by  the  cheerless  plain, 

F or  fairy  fiights  the  fancy  toils  in  vain : 

VOL.  I.  17 


258 


ACKNOWLEDGED  TOEMS. 


For  though  her  waves,  by  commerce  richly  blest, 
Roll  to  her  shores  the  treasures  of  the  west, 
Though  her  broad  banks  trade’s  busy  aspect 
wears, 

She  seems  unconscious  of  the  wealth  she  bears. 
Near  to  her  banks,  and  under  Brandon’s  hill. 
There  wanders  Jacob’s  ever  murm’ring  rill. 

That  pouring  forth  a never-failing  stream. 

To  the  dim  eye  restores  the  steady  beam. 

Here  too  (alas ! though  tott’ring  now  with  age) 
Stands  our  deserted,  solitary  stage, 

Where  oft  our  Powell,  Nature’s  genuine  son, 
With  tragic  tones  the  fix’d  attention  won : 

Fierce  from  his  lips  his  angry  accents  fly. 

Fierce  as  the  blast  that  tears  the  northern  sky ; 
Like  snows  that  trickle  down  hot  Etna’s  steep, 
His  passion  melts  the  soul,  and  makes  us  weep : 
But  oh  ! how  soft  his  tender  accents  move — 

Soft  as  the  cooings  of  the  turtle’s  love — 

Soft  as  the  breath  of  morn  in  bloom  of  spring. 
Dropping  a lucid  tear  on  zephyr’s  wing : 

O’er  Shakespeare’s  varied  scenes  he  wandered 
wide. 

In  Macbeth’s  form  all  human  pow’r  defied ; 

In  shapeless  Richard’s  dark  and  fierce  disguise. 

In  dreams  he  saw  the  murdered  train  arise ; 

Then  what  convulsions  shook  his  trembling  breast, 
And  strew’d  with  pointed  thorns  his  bed  of  rest ! 
But  fate  has  snatch’d  thee — early  was  thy  doom. 
How  soon  inclosed  within  the  silent  tomb  ! 


CLIFTON. 


259 


No  more  our  raptur’d  eyes  shall  meet  thy  fonn, 
No  more  thy  melting  tones  our  bosoms  warm. 
Without  thy  pow’rful  aid,  the  languid  stage 
No  more  can  please  at  once  and  mend  the  age. 
Yes,  thou  art  gone ! and  thy  beloved  remains 
Yon  sacred  old  cathedral  wall  contains  ; 

There  does  the  muffled  bell  our  grief  reveal, 

And  solemn  organs  swell  the  mournful  peal ; 
Whilst  hallow’d  dirges  fill  the  holy  shrine, 
Deserved  tribute  to  such  worth  as  thine. 

No  more  at  Clifton’s  scenes  my  strains  o’erflow, 
For  the  Muse,  drooping  at  this  tale  of  woe, 
Slackens  the  strings  of  her  enamour’d  lyre. 

The  flood  of  gushing  grief  puts  out  her  fire : 

Else  would  she  sing  the  deeds  of  other  times. 

Of  saints  and  heroes  sung  in  monkish  rhymes  ; 
Else  would  her  soaring  fancy  bum  to  stray, 

And  through  the  cloister’d  aisle  would  take  her 
way. 

Where  sleep,  (ah!  mingling  with  the  common 
dust,) 

The  sacred  bodies  of  tlie  brave  and  just. 

But  vain  the  attempt  to  scan  that  holy  lore. 

These  soft’ning  sighs  forbid  the  Muse  to  soar. 

So  treading  back  the  steps  I just  now  trod. 
Mournful  and  sad  I seek  my  lone  abode. 


THE  ART  OF  PUFFING. 


BY  A bookseller’s  JOURNEYMAN.' 

Versed  bj  experience  in  the  subtle  art, 

The  myst’ries  of  a title  I impart : 

Teach  the  young  author  how  to  please  the  town, 
And  make  the  heavy  drug  of  rhyme  go  down. 
Since  Curl,  immortal  never-dying  name  I 
A double  pica  in  the  book  of  fame. 

By  various  arts  did  various  dunces  prop. 

And  tickled  every  fancy  to  his  shop : 

Who  can,  like  Pottinger,  insure  a book  ? 

Who  judges  with  the  solid  taste  of  Cooke  ? 
Villains  exalted  in  the  midway  sky. 

Shall  live  again  to  drain  your  purses  dry : 

Nor  yet  unrivalled  they  : see  Baldwin  comes, 
Rich  in  inventions,  patents,  cuts,  and  hums : 

The  honourable  Boswell  writes,  ’tis  true. 

What  else  can  Paoli’s  supporter  do. 

The  trading  wits  endeavour  to  attain. 

Like  booksellers,  the  world’s  first  idol — gain : 


1 Copied  from  a MS.  of  Chatterton. 


THE  ART  OF  PUFFING. 


2C1 


For  this  they  puff  the  heavy  Goldsmith’s  line, 
And  hail  his  sentiment,  though  trite,  divine  ; 
For  this  the  patriotic  bard  complains, 

And  Bingley  binds  poor  liberty  in  chains : 

For  this  was  every  reader’s  faith  deceived, 
And  Edmunds  swore  what  nobody  believed : 
For  this  the  wits  in  close  disguises  fight; 

For  this  the  varying  politicians  write  ; 

For  this  each  month  new  magazines  are  sold. 
With  dulness  fill’d  and  transcripts  of  the  old. 
The  Town  and  Country  struck  a lucky  hit. 
Was  novel,  sentimental,,  full  of  wit : 

Aping  her  walk  the  same  success  to  find. 

The  Court  and  City  hobbles  far  behind : 

Sons  of  Apollo  learn  : merit’s  no  more 
Than  a good  frontispiece  to  grace  the  door : 
The  author  who  invents  a title  well. 

Will  always  find  his  cover’d  dulness  sell : 
Flexney  and  every  bookseller  will  buy, 

Bound  in  neat  calf,  the  work  will  never  die. 

VAMP. 


VERSES 


WRITTEN  BY  CHATTERTON,  TO  A LADY  IN 
BRISTOL.^ 

To  use  a worn-out  simile, 

From  flower  to  flower  the  busy  bee 
With  anxious  labour  flies, 

Alike  from  scents  which  give  distaste, 

By  Fancy  as  disgusting  plac’d, 

Repletes  his  useful  thighs. 

Nor  does  his  vicious  taste  prefer 
The  fopling  of  some  gay  parterre. 

The  mimicry  of  art ! 

But  round  the  meadow-violet  dwells, 

Nature  replenishing  his  cells. 

Does  ampler  stores  impart. 

So  I a humble-dumble  drone. 

Anxious  and  restless  when  alone, 

I From  a copy  given  by  Chatterton  to  Mr.  H Rater,  of 
Bristol. 


VERSES. 


263 


Seek  comfort  in  the  fair ; 

And  featur’d  up  in  tenfold  brass, 

A rhyming,  staring,  am’rous  ass, 

To  you  address  my  prayer. 

But  ever  in  my  lovelorn  flights 
Nature  untouch’d  by  art  delights — 

Art  ever  gives  disgust. 

Why,  says  some  priest  of  mystic  thought, 
The  bard  alone  by  nature  taught. 

Is  to  that  nature  just. 

But  ask  your  orthodox  divine. 

If  ye  perchance  should  read  this  line 
Which  fancy  now  inspires : 

Will  all  his  sermons,  preaching,  prayers. 
His  hell,  his  heaven,  his  solemn  airs. 
Quench  nature’s  rising  fires  ? 

In  natural  religion  free, 

I to  no  other  bow  the  knee. 

Nature’s  the  God  I own : 

Let  priests  of  future  torments  tell, 

Your  anger  is  the  only  hell. 

No  other  hell  is  known. 

I steel’d  by  destiny  was  born. 

Well  fenced  against  a woman’s  scorn, 
Regardless  of  that  hell ; 

1 fired  by  burning  planets  came 


2G4 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


From  flaming  hearts  to  catch  a flame, 
And  bid  the  bosom  swell. 

Then  catch  the  shadow  of  a heart, 

I will  not  with  the  substance  part, 
Although  that  substance  burn, 

Till  as  a hostage  you  remit 
Your  heart,  your  sentiment,  your  wit. 
To  make  a safe  return. 

A reverend  cully-mully  puff 
May  call  this  letter  odious  stuff. 

With  no  Greek  motto  graced  ; 
Whilst  you,  despising  the  poor  strain, 
‘‘  The  dog’s  insufferably  vain 
To  think  to  please  my  taste ! ” 

'Tis  vanity,  ’tis  impudence 
Is  all  the  merit,  all  the  sense 
Through  which  to  fame  I trod ; 
These  (by  the  Trinity  ’tis  true) 
Procure  me  friends  and  notice  too, 
And  shall  gain  you  by  G — d. 


TO  MR.  HOLLAND.* 


What  numbers,  Holland,  can  the  muses  find, 

To  sing  thy  merit  in  each  varied  part. 

When  action,  eloquence,  and  ease  combin’d, 

Make  nature  but  a copy  of  thy  art? 

Majestic  as  the  eagle  on  the  wing. 

Or  the  young  sky-helm’d,  mountain-rooted  tree ; 
Pleasing  as  meadows  blushing  with  the  spring. 
Loud  as  the  surges  of  the  Severn  sea 

In  terror’s  strain,  as  clanging  armies  drear : 

In  love,  as  Jove,  too  great  for  mortal  praise ; 

In  pity,  gentle  as  the  falling  tear ; 

In  all,  superior  to  my  feeble  lays. 

Black  Anger’s  sudden  rise,  extatic  pain ; 

Tormenting  Jealousy’s  self-cank’ring  sting ; 
Consuming  Envy,  with  her  yelling  train ; 

Fraud  closely  shrouded  with  the  turtle’s  wing : 

1 This  person  was  an  actor  of  some  provincial  celebrity, 
whose  performance  of  various  characters  at  Bristol  was  for 
lome  time  the  engrossing  subject  of  conversation  among  the 
friends  of  Chatterton. 


266 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Whatever  passions  gall  the  human  breast, 

Play  in  thy  features,  and  await  thy  nod ; 

In  thee,  by  art,  the  demon  stands  confest. 

But  nature  on  thy  soul  has  stamp’d  the  god. 

So  just  thy  action  with  thy  part  agrees. 

Each  feature  does  the  office  of  the  tongue  ; 

Such  is  thy  native  elegance  and  ease. 

By  thee  the  harsh  line  smoothly  glides  along. 

At  thy  feign’d  woe  we’re  really  distrest. 

At  thy  feign’d  tears  we  let  the  real  fall ; 

By  every  judge  of  nature  ’tis  confest. 

No  single  part  is  thine,  thou’rt  all  in  all. 


AN  ELEGY, 

ON  THE  MUCH-LAMENTED  DEATH  OF  WM.  BECK- 
FORD,  ESQ.,  LATE  LORD  MAYOR  OF  AND  REP- 
RESENTATIVE IN  PARLIAMENT  FOR  THE  CITY 
OF  LONDON.^ 

I. 

Weep  on,  ye  Britons  ! give  your  gen’ral  Tear; 

But  hence,  ye  venal — hence  each  titled  Slave  I 
An  honest  pang  should  wait  on  Beckford’s  Bier, 
And  patriot  Anguish  mark  the  Patriot’s  Grave. 

1 To  the  Editor  of  Felix  Farley's  Journal. 

Sir,— As  the  columns  of  your  Paper  gave  the  earliest  effu- 


ELEGY  OX  BECKFORD. 


2 07 


II. 

When  like  the  Roman  to  his  Field  retired, 

’Twas  you  (surrounded  by  unnumber’d  Foes) 
Who  call’d  him  forth,  his  Services  required, 

And  took  from  Age  the  Blessing  of  Repose. 

III. 

With  soul  impell’d  by  Virtue’s  Sacked  Flame, 

To  stem  the  Torrent  of  corruption’s  Tide, 

He  came,  heav’n  fraught  with  Liberty  ! he 
came, 

And  nobly  in  his  Country’s  Service  died. 

Bions  of  the  highly-gifted  Chatterton  to  the  public  eye,  it  may 
form  a ground  for  claiming  a space  for  an  entire  copy  of  an 
Elegy  by  him,  of  which  only  the  first  twelve  stanzas,  gathered 
from  a contemporary  review,  are  to  be  found  in  any  edition 
of  his  works.  It  was  advertised  in  the  Middlesex  Journal^  (the 
patriotic  paper  of  that  period,  to  which  Chatterton  made 
many  communications,)  on  the  3d  July,  1770,  and  was  pub- 
lished in  quarto,  by  Mr.  Kearsley  of  Fleet-street,  price  one 
shilling.  It  is  probable  the  author  received  for  this  produc- 
tion two  guineas,  according  to  his  current  account,  inserted 
in  his  life,  of  the  balance  in  favour  of  the  Lord  Mayor’s  death. 
The  obtainment  of  a copy  of  the  original  publication  was  an 
object  of  search  for  above  ten  years. 

Your’s,  &c.  Eu.  Hood. 

The  punctuation,  capital  letters,  numerals,  &c.,  are  fol- 
lowed as  printed  in  Kearsley’s  edition. 

[For  a complete  copy  of  this  celebrated  Elegy — the  first 
ever  included  in  an  edition  of  Chatterton’s  Works — the 
present  Editor  is  indebted  to  the  good  services  of  Mr.  Tyson, 
of  Bristol.] 


2G8 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POExMS. 


IV. 

In  the  last  awful,  the  departing  Hour, 

When  life’s  poor  Lamp  more  faint  and  fainter 
grew  ; 

As  Mem’rj  feebly  exercis’d  her  pow’r, 

He  only  felt  for  Liberty  and  you. 

V. 

He  view’d  Death’s  Arrow  with  a Christian  Eye, 
With  firmness  only  to  a Christian  known  ; 

And  nobly  gave  your  Miseries  that  sigh 
With  which  he  never  gratified  his  own. 


VI. 

Thou  breathing  Sculpture,  celebrate  his  fame, 
And  give  his  Laurel  everlasting  Bloom  ; 

Record  his  worth  while  Gratitude  has  name. 

And  teach  succeeding  ages  from  his  Tomb. 

VII. 

The  Sword  of  Justice  cautiously  he  sway’d. 

His  hand  for  ever  held  the  balance  right ; 

Each  venial  Fault  with  Pity  he  survey’d. 

But  MURDER  found  no  mercy  in  his  sight. 

VIII. 

He  knew,  when  flatterers  besiege  a Throne, 
Truth  seldom  reaches  to  a Monarch’s  Ear ; 

Knew,  IF  oppress’d  a loyal  people  groan, 
’Tis  not  the  courtier’s  Interest  he  should 


HEAR. 


ELEGY  ON  BECKFOIID. 


209 


IX. 

Hence  honest  to  his  Prince  his  manly  Tongue 
The  PUBLIC  WRONG  and  loyalty  convey’d, 
While  TITLED  TREMBLERS,  ev’ry  Nerve  unstrung, 
Look’d  all  around,  confounded  and  dismay’d; 


X. 

Look’d  all  around,  astonish’d  to  behold 

(Train’d  up  to  Flatt’ry  from  their  early  Youth) 

An  ARTLESS,  FEARLESS  Citizen  unfold 
To  ROYAL  Ears  a mortifying  Truth. 

XI. 

Titles  to  him  no  pleasures  could  impart. 

No  bribes  his  rigid  Virtue  could  controul ; 

The  Star  could  never  gain  upon  his  Heart, 

Nor  turn  the  Tide  of  Honour  in  his  soul. 

XII. 

For  this  his  Name  our  Hist’ry  shall  adorn. 

Shall  soar  on  Fame’s  wide  pinions  all  sublime, 

Till  Heaven’s  own  bright  and  never-dying  mom 
Absorbs  our  little  particle  of  Time. 

13. 

Far  other  Fate  the  Venal  Crew  shall  find. 

Who  sigh  for  pomp,  or  languish  after  strings  ; 

And  sell  their  native  probity  of  mind, 

For  Bribes  from  Statesmen,  or  for  Smiles  from 
Kings. 


270 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS, 


14. 

And  here  a long  inglorious  list  of  names 

On  my  disturb’d  Imagination  crowd  ; ^ 

0 ! let  them  perish  (loud  the  muse  exclaims,) 
Consign’d  for  ever  to  oblivion’s  cloud. 

15. 

“ White  be  the  page  that  celebrates  his  Fame, 
Nor  let  one  mark  of  infamy  appear  ; 

“ Let  not  the  Villain’s  mingle  with  his  name, 

“ Let  Indignation  stop  the  swelling  Tear. 

16. 

“ The  swelling  Tear  should  plenteously  descend, 
“The  deluged  Eye  should  give  the  Heart 
relief ; 

“ Humanity  should  melt  for  nature’s  Friend, 

“In  all  the  richest  Luxury  of  Grief.” 

/ 

17. 

He,  as  a Planet  with  unceasing  Pay, 

Is  seen  in  one  unvaried  course  to  move, 

Through  Life  pursued,  but  one  illustrious  Way, 
And  all  his  orbit  was  his  Country’s  Love. 


18. 

But  he  is  gone  ! — And  now,  alas  ! no  more 
His  generous  Hand  neglected  Worth  redeems 
Ko  more  around  his  mansion  shall  the  Poor 
Bask  in  his  warm,  his  charitable  Beams. 


ELEGY  ON  BECKFORD. 


271 


19. 

No  more  his  grateful  countrymen  shall  hear 
His  manly  voice,  in  martyr’d  freedom’s  cause ; 

No  more  the  courtly  sycophant  shall  fear 
His  poignant  Lash  for  violated  Laws. 

20. 

Yet  say,  Stern  Virtue,  who’d  not  wish  to  die 
Thus  greatly  struggling,  a whole  Land  to  save? 

Who  would  not  wish,  with  ardour  wish  to  lie. 
With  Beckford^s  Honour,  in  a Beckfords  Grave? 

21. 

Not  Honour,  such  as  Princes  can  bestow, 

Whose  breath  a Reptile  to  a Lord  can  raise ; 

But  far  the  brightest  honor  here  below, 

A grateful  nation’s  unabating  praise. 


22. 

But  see  ! where  Liberty,  on  yonder  strand, 
Where  the  cliff  rises,  and  the  billows  roar, 
Already  takes  her  melancholy  stand. 

To  wing  her  passage  to  some  happier  shore. 

23. 

Stay,  Goddess ! stay,  nor  leave  this  once  blessM 
Isle, 

So  many  ages  thy  peculiar  care ; 

0 stay  ! and  cheer  us  ever  with  thy  smile, 

Lest  quick  we  sink  in  terrible  despair. 


272 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


24. 

And  lo  ! she  listens  to  the  muse’s  call ; 

She  comes,  once  more,  to  cheer  a wretched 
Land ; 

Thou,  Tyranny,  shall  tremble  to  thy  fall ! 

To  hear  her  high,  her  absolute  command  : — 

25. 

" Let  not,  my  sons,  the  Laws  your  fathers 
bought, 

“ With  such  rich  oceans  of  undaunted  Blood, 

‘‘  By  Traitors,  thus  be  basely  set  at  nought, 

‘‘  While  at  your  Hearts  you  feel  the  purple  flood. 

26. 

Unite  in  firm,  in  honourable  Bands  ; 

Break  ev’ry  Link  of  Slav’ry’s  hateful  chain  : 
Nor  let  your  children,  at  their  fathers’  Hands, 

“ Demand  their  birthright,  and  demand  in  vain. 

27. 

‘‘  Where  e’er  the  murd’rers  of  their  country 
Hide; 

‘‘  Whatever  dignities  their  names  adorn  ; 

^ It  is  your  Duty — let  it  be  your  pride. 

To  drag  them  forth  to  universal  scorn. 

28. 

^ So  shall  your  lov’d,  your  venerated  name, 

“ O’er  Earth’s  vast  convex  gloriously  expand 


ELEGY. 


273 


^ So  shall  your  still  accumulating  fame, 

‘‘  In  one  bright  story  with  your  Beckford  stand.* 


ELEGY. 

Haste,  haste  ! ye  solemn  messengers  of  night, 
Spread  the  black  mantle  on  the  shrinking  plain ; 
But,  ah  ! my  torments  still  survive  the  light. 

The  changing  seasons  alter  not  my  pain. 

1 In  the  Town  and  Country  Magazine  for  November,  1769, 
there  is  a full  length  portrait  of  Alderman  Beckford,  in  his 
magisterial  robes.  The  Alderman,  as  is  well  known,  was 
father  to  the  present  Wm.  Beckford,  Esq.,  the  talented  author 
of  “ Vathek.”  “ Chatterton,”  says  Dr.  Gregory,  “had,  it 
seems,  addressed  an  essay  to  the  patriotic  Lord  Mayor,  \V. 
Beckford,  which  was  so  well  received  that  it  encouraged  him 
to  wait  upon  his  Lordship  in  order  to  obtain  his  approbation 
to  address  a second  letter  to  him,  on  the  subject  of  the  city 
remonstrance,  and  its  reception.  ‘His  Lordship  (adds)  lie 
received  me  as  politely  as  a citizen  could,  and  warmly  in 
vited  me  to  call  on  him  again.  The  rest  is  a secret.’  His 
inclination  doubtless  led  him  to  espouse  the  party  of  ojipo- 
sition;  but  he  complains  that  ‘ no  money  is  to  be  got  on  that 
side  the  question;  interest  is  on  the  other  side.  But  he  is  a 
poor  author  that  cannot  write  on  both  sides.  1 believe  I may 
be  introduced  (and  if  I am  not.  I’ll  introduce  myself)  to  a 
niling  power  in  the  court  party.’  When  Beckford  died,  he 
is  said  to  have  been  almost  frantic,  and  to  have  exclaimed 
that  he  was  ruined.  The  elegy,  however,  in  which  he  has 
eelebrated  him,  contains  more  of  frigid  praise  than  of  ardent 
feeling;  nor  is  there  a single  line  which  appears  to  flow  from 
yie  heart.” 


VOL.  I. 


18 


274 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Ye  variegated  children  of  the  spring  ; 

Ye  blossoms  blushing  with  the  pearly  dew  ; 

Ye  birds  that  sweetly  in  the  hawthorn  sing ; 

Ye  flow’ry  meadows,  lawns  of  verdant  hue  ; 

Faint  are  your  colours,  harsh  your  love-notes 
thrill, 

To  me  no  pleasure  Nature  now  can  yield ; 
Alike  the  barren  rock  and  woody  hill. 

The  dark-brown  blasted  heath,  and  fruitful  field. 

Ye  spouting  cataracts,  ye  silver  streams, 

Ye  spacious  rivers,  whom  the  willow  shrouds, 
Ascend  the  bright-crown’d  sun’s  far-shining  beams, 
To  aid  the  mournful  tear-distilling  clouds. 

Ye  noxious  vapours,  fall  upon  my  head  ; 

Y'e  writhing  adders,  round  my  feet  entwine ; ^ 
Ye  toads,  your  venom  in  my  footpath  spread ; 

Ye  blasting  meteors,  upon  me  shine. 

Ye  circling  seasons,  intercept  the  year. 

Forbid  the  beauties  of  the  spring  to  rise  ; 

Let  not  the  life-preserving  grain  appear  ; 

Let  howling  tempests  harrow  up  the  skies. 

Ye  cloud-frirt,  moss-grown  turrets,  look  no  more 
Into  the  palace  of  the  god  of  day: 

Ye  loud  tempestuous  billows,  cease  to  roar, 

In  plaintive  numbers  through  the  valleys  stre.y 


ON  MR.  ALCOCK,  OF  BRISTOL. 


275 


Ye  verdant-\  ested  trees,  forget  to  grow, 

Cast  off  the  yellow  foliage  of  your  pride  : 

Ye  softly  tinkling  riv’lets  cease  to  flow. 

Or,  s weird  with  certain  death  and  poison,  glide. 

Ye  solemn  warblers  of  the  gloomy  night. 

That  rest  in  lightning-blasted  oaks  the  day. 
Through  the  black  mantles  take  your  slow-paced 
flight. 

Rending  the  silent  wood  with  shrieking  lay. 

Ye  snow-crown’d  mountains,  lost  to  mortal  eyes, 
Down  to  the  valleys  bend  your  hoary  head ; 

Ye  livid  comets,  fire  the  peopled  skies — 

For — ^lady  Betty’s  tabby  cat  is  dead. 


ON  MR.  ALCOCK,  OF  BRISTOL, 

AN  EXCELLENT  MINIATURE  PAINTER. 

Ye  Nine,  awake  the  chorded  shell. 
Whilst  I the  praise  of  Alcock  tell 
In  truth-dictated  lays : 

On  wings  of  genius  take  thy  flight, 

O muse ! above  the  Olympic  height, 
Make  Echo  sing  his  praise. 


276 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Nature,  in  all  her  glory  drest, 

Her  flowVy  crown,  her  verdant  vest, 

Her  zone  ethereal  blue. 

Receives  new  charms  from  Alcock’s  hand  ; 
The  eye  surveys,  at  his  command. 

Whole  kingdoms  at  a view. 

His  beauties  seem  to  roll  the  eye. 

And  bid  the  real  arrows  fly. 

To  wound  the  gazer’s  mind ; 

So  taking  are  his  men  display’d. 

That  oft  th’  unguarded  wounded  maid 
Hath  wish’d  the  painter  blind. 

His  pictures  like  to  nature  show. 

The  silver  fountains  seem  to  flow. 

The  hoary  woods  to  nod  ; 

The  curling  hair,  the  flowing  dress. 

The  speaking  attitude,  confess 
The  fancy-forming  god. 

Ye  classic  Roman-loving  fools. 

Say,  could  the  painters  of  the  schools 
With  Alcock’s  pencil  vie  ? 

He  paints  the  passions  of  mankind, 

And  in  the  face  displays  the  mind. 
Charming  the  heart  and  eye. 

Thrice  happy  artist,  rouse  thy  powers, 

And  s(md,  in  wonder-giving  showers. 


TO  MISS  BUSH,  OF  BRISTOL. 


277 


Tbj  beauteous  works  to  view  : 
Envy  shall  sicken  at  thy  name, 
Italians  leave  the  chair  of  Fame, 
And  own  the  seat  thy  due/ 


TO  MISS  BUSH,  OF  BRISTOL.^ 

Before  I seek  the  dreary  shore, 

Where  Gambia’s  rapid  billows  roar. 

And  foaming  pour  along, 

To  you  I urge  the  plaintive  strain. 

And  though  a lover  sings  in  vain, 

Yet  you  shall  hear  the  song. 

Ungrateful,  cruel,  lovely  maid. 

Since  all  my  torments  were  repaid 
With  frowns  or  languid  sneers  ; 

1 This  piece  was  published  in  the  Town  and  Country 
Magazine,  under  the  signature  of  Asaphides:  after  Chatter- 
ton’s  death,  a linen-draper  of  Bristol  laid  claim  to  it  as  his 
production.  But  as  Chatterton  mentions  it  as  his  i)\vn,  in  the 
letter  to  his  relation,  Mr.  Stephens,  of  Salisbury,  his  right  to 

(such  as  ^t  is)  has  been  considered  established. 

2 He  had  now  in  contemplation  “ the  miserable  hope  of 
securing  the  very  ineligible  appointment  of  a surgeon’s  mate 
to  Africa.” 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


With  assiduities  no  more 
Your  captive  will  your  health  implore, 
Or  tease  you  with  his  tears. 

Now  to  the  regions  where  the  sun 
Does  his  hot  course  of  glory  run, 

And  parches  up  the  ground  ; 

Where  o’er  the  burning  cleaving  plains, 
A long  eternal  dog-star  reigns, 

And  splendour  flames  around : 

There  will  I go,  yet. not 4o  find 
A fire  intenser  than  my  mind. 

Which  burns  a Constant  flame  : 
There  will  I lose  thy  heavenly  form. 

Nor  shall  remembrance,  raptured,  warm, 
Draw  shadows  of  thy  frame. 

In  the  rough  element  the  sea. 

I’ll  drown  the  softer  subject,  thee. 

And  sink  each  lovely  charm  : 

No  more  my  bosom  shall  be  torn. 

No  more  by  wild  ideas  borne. 

I’ll  cherish  the  alarm. 

Yet,  Polly,  could  thy  heart  be  kind. 

Soon  would  my  feeble  purpose  find 
Thy  sway  within  my  breast : 

But  hence,  soft  scenes  of  painted  woe. 
Spite  of  the  dear  delight  I’ll  go, 

Forget  her,  and  be  blest. 


FRAGMENT. 


Far  from  the  reach  of  critics  and  reviews, 
Brush  up  thy  pinions  and  ascend,  my  muse ! 
Of  conversation  sing  an  ample  theme, 

And  drink  the  tea  of  Heliconian  stream. 

Hail,  matchless  linguist ! prating  Delia,  hail ! 
When  scandal’s  best  materials,  hackneyed,  fail, 
Thy  quick  invention  lends  a quick  supply. 

And  all  thy  talk  is  one  continued  lie. 

Know,  thou  eternal  babbler,  that  my  song 
Could  show  a line  as  venom’d  as  thy  tongue. 

In  pity  to  thy  sex  I cease  to  write 
Of  London  journeys  and  the  marriage-night* 
The  conversation  with  which  taverns  ring 
Descends  below  my  satire’s  soaring  sting. 

Upon  his  elbow  throne  great  Maro  sits, 
Revered  at  Forster’s  by  the  would-be  wits  ; 
Dehb’rately  the  studied  jest  he  breaks. 

And  long  and  loud  the  polish’d  table  shakes ; 
Retail’d  in  every  brothel-house  in  town, 

Each  dancing  booby  vends  it  as  his  own. 

Upon  the  empty  jelly-glass  reclined, 

The  laughing  Maro  gathers  up  his  wind  ; 


280 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


The  tail-bud  ’prentice  rubs  his  hands  and  grins, 
Heady  to  laugh  before  the  tale  begins  : 

To  talk  of  freedom,  politics,  and  Bute, 

And  knotty  arguments  in  law  confute, 

I leave  to  blockheads,  for  such  things  design’d, 
Be  it  my  task  divine  to  ease  the  mind. 

To-morrow,”  says  a Church-of-England  Priest, 
‘‘  Is  of  good  St.  Epiphany  the  feast. 

It  nothing  matters  whether  he  or  she. 

But  be  all  servants  from  their  labour  free.” 

The  laugh  begins  with  Maro,  and  goes  round. 
And  the  dry  jest  is  very  witty  found  ; 

In  every  corner  of  the  room  are  seen 
Round  altars  covered  with  eternal  green. 

Piled  high  with  offerings  to  the  Goddess  Fame 
"WTiich  mortals,  chronicles,  and  journals  name ; 
Where  in  strange  jumble  flesh  and  spirit  lie, 
And  illustration  sees  a jest-book  nigh  : 
Anti-venereal  med’cine  cheek-by-jowl 
With  Whitfield’s  famous  physic  for  the  soul ; 
The  patriot  Wilkes’s  ever-famed  essay, 

With  Bute  and  justice  in  the  self-same  lay : 
Which  of  the  two  deserved  (ye  casuists  tell) 

The  conflagrations  of  a hangman’s  hell  ? 

T1i(3  clock  strikes  eight ; the  taper  dully  shines  , 
Farewell,  my  muse,  nor  think  of  further  lines  : 
Nine  leaves,  and  in  two  hours,  or  something  odd 
Shut  up  the  book, — it  is  enough  by  G — d ! 

28th  Oct. 


FRAGMENT. 


281 


Sage  Gloster’s  Bishop  sits  supine  between 
Ilis  fiery  floggers,  and  a cure  for  spleen ; 

The  son  of  flame,  enthusiastic  Law, 

Displays  his  bigot  blade  and  thunders  raw. 
Unconscious  of  his  neighbours,  some  vile  plays 
Directing-posts  to  Beelzebub’s  highways  ; 

Fools  are  philosophers  in  Jones’s  line. 

And,  bound  in  gold  and  scarlet,  Dodsleys  shine ; 
These  are  the  various  offerings  Fame  requires, 
Forever  rising  to  her  shrines  in  spires  ; 

Hence  all  Avaro's  politics  are  drain’d. 

And  Evehna’s  general  scandal’s  gain’d. 

Where  Satan’s  temple  rears  its  lofty  head. 

And  muddy  torrents  wash  their  shrinking  bed  ; 
Where  the  stupendous  sons  of  commerce  meet. 
Sometimes  to  scold  indeed,  but  oft  to  eat ; 

Where  frugal  Cambria  all  her  poultry  gives, 

And  where  th’  insatiate  Messalina  fives, 

A mighty  fabric  opens  to  the  sight : 

With  four  large  columns,  five  large  windows  dight ; 
With  four  small  portals, — ’tis  with  much  ado 
A common-council  lady  can  pass  through : 

Here  Hare  first  teaches  supple  limbs  to  bend. 
And  faults  of  nature  never  fails  to  mend. 

Here  conversation  takes  a nobler  flight. 

For  nature  leads  the  theme,  and  all  is  right ; 

The  little  god  of  love  improves  discourse. 

And  sage  discretion  finds  his  thunder  hoarse ; 


282 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


About  the  flame  the  gilded  trifles  play, 

Till,  lost  in  forge  unknown,  they  melt  away  ; 
And,  cherishing  the  passion  in  the  mind, 

There  each  idea’s  brighten’d  and  refined. 

Ye  painted  guardians  of  the  lovely  fair. 

Who  spread  the  saffron  bloom,  and  tinge  the  hair 
Whose  deep  invention  first  found  out  the  art 
Of  making  rapture  glow  in  every  part ; 

Of  wounding  by  each  varied  attitude — 

Sure  ’twas  a thought  divinity  endued. 

***** 


ELEGY 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  PHILLIPS.^ 

Assist  me,  powers  of  Heaven  ! what  do  I hear  ? 
Surprise  and  horror  check  the  burning  tear. 


1 This  Elegy  on  the  death  of  Thomas  Phillips  seems  to 
have  cost  Chatterton  some  labour.  Not  satisfied  with  a first 
attempt,  he  set  to  work  two  or  three  months  after  his  original 
effusion,  and  coined  his  grief  afresh.  Southey  was  not  aware 
of  this  till  after  the  ruder  draft  was  printed.  The  second 
copy  had  found  its  way  by  some  means  into  the  hands  of  the 
late  eccentric  Thomas  Hill,  the  friend  and  companion  of  all 
the  present,  and  too  many  of  the  departed  race  of  literary 


ELEGY  ON  PHILLIPS. 


283 


Is  Phillips  dead,  and  is  mj  friend  no  more  ! 

Gone  like  the  sand  divested  from  the  shore  ! 

And  is  he  gone  ? — Can  then  the  nine  refuse 
To  sing  with  gratitude  a favour’d  muse. 

ELEGY. 

No  more  I hail  the  morning’s  golden  gleam, 

No  more  the  wonders  of  the  view  I sing ; 
Friendship  requires  a melancholy  theme, 

At  her  command  the  awful  lyre  I string  ! 

Now  as  I wander  through  this  leafless  grove. 
Where  tempests  howl,  and  blasts  eternal  rise,^ 
How  shall  I teach  the  chorded  shell  to  move. 

Or  stay  the  gushing  torrent  from  my  eyes  ? 

Phillips ! great  master  of  the  boundless  lyre. 
Thee  would  my  soul-rack’d  muse  attempt  to 
paint ; ^ 

men.  Through  his  medium  it  reached  the  Laureate,  who 
printed  it  in  the  same  volume  with  the  older  copy,  with  the 
following  explanatory  note : “ As  this  latter  Elegy  contained 
seven  or  eight  new  stanzas,  besides  many  verbal  alterations, 
instead  of  cancelling  the  old,  it  was  deemed  proper  to  let  it 
remain,  and  to  print  the  corrected  copy  also,  by  which  the 
reader  will  be  pleased  in  tracing  Chatterton’s  various  emen- 
dations.” In  the  present  edition  the  corrected  copy  only  is 
retained:  the  emendations  referred  to  may  be  noted  from  the 
variations  subjoined  in  the  margin. — Ed. 
iln  the  original  copy: — 

“ Where  the  dark  vapours  of  the  ev’ning  rise.” 

2 Better  expressed  in  the  former  version : — 

“ Thee  would  my  grateful  muse,”  &c. 


284 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Give  me  a double  portion  of  thy  fire, 

Or  all  the  powers  of  language  are  too  faint. 

Say,  soul  unsullied  by  the  filth  of  vice,^ 

Say,  meek-eyed  spirit,  where’s  thy  tuneful  shell, 
Which  when  the  silver  stream  was  lock’d  with 
ice, 

Was  wont  to  cheer  the  tempest-ravaged  dell? 

Oft  as  the  filmy  veil  of  evening  drew 
The  thick’ning  shade  upon  the  vivid  green, 

Thou,  lost  in  transport  at  the  dying  view, 

Bid’st  the  ascending  muse  display  the  scene. 

When  golden  Autumn,  wreathed  in  ripen’d  com, 
From  purple  clusters  prest  the  foamy  wine. 

Thy  genius  did  his  sallow  brows  adorn. 

And  made  the  beauties  of  the  season  thine. 

With  rustling  sound  the  yellow  foliage  flies, 

And  wantons  with  the  wind  in  rapid  whirls ; 

The  gurgling  riv’let  to  the  valley  hies. 

Whilst  on  its  bank  the  spangled  serpent  curls.* 

1 The  following  stanza  occurred  in  the  original  copy  in  the 
place  of  the  fourth  and  fifth  stanzas  of  the  present  Elegy:— 

“ Say  what  bold  number,  what  immortal  line 
The  image  of  thy  genius  can  refiect  ? 

Oh,  lend  my  pen  what  animated  thine. 

To  show  thee  in  thy  native  glories  deck’d  I ” 

2 More  appropriately  in  the  original  copy : — 

“ And  lost  to  sight,  in  dying  murmurs  curls.” 


ELEGY  ON  PHILLIPS. 


285 


The  joyous  charms  of  Spring  delighted  saw 
Their  beauties  doubly  glaring  in  thy  lay  ; 

Nothing  was  Spring  which  Phillips  did  not  draw. 
And  every  image  of  his  muse  was  May. 

So  rose  the  regal  hyacinthal  star, 

So  shone  the  verdure  of  the  daisied  bed, 

So  seemed  the  forest  glimmering  from  afar ; 

You  saw  the  real  prospect  as  you  read. 

Majestic  Summer’s  blooming  flow’ry  pride 
Next  claim’d  the  honour  of  his  nervous  song ; 

He  taught  the  stream  in  hollow  trills  to  glide, 
And  led  the  glories  of  the  year  along. 

Pale  rugged  Winter  bending  o’er  his  tread, 

His  grizzled  hair  bedropt  with  icy  dew  ; 

His  eyes,  a dusky  light  congealed  and  dead. 

His  robe,  a tinge  of  bright  ethereal  blue. 

His  train  a motley’d,  sanguine,  sable  cloud. 

He  limps  along  the  russet,  dreary  moor. 

Whilst  rising  whirlwinds,  blasting,  keen,  and  loud; 
Roll  the  white  surges  to  the  sounding  shore. 

Nor  were  his  pleasures  unimproved  by  thee ; 
Pleasures  he  has,  though  horridly  deform’d ; 

The  polished  lake,  the  silver’d  hill  we  see, 

[s  by  thy  genius  fired, ^ preserved,  and  warm’d. 

1 Fix'd^  in  the  original  co^'y. 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 

The  rough  October  ^ has  his  pleasures  too ; 

But  Tm  insensible  to  every  joy : 

Farewell  the  laurel ! now  I grasp  the  yew, 
And  all  my  little  powers  in  grief  employ. 

Immortal  shadow  of  my  much-loved  friend  I 
Clothed  in  thy  native  virtue  meet  my  soul. 
When  on  the  fatal  bed,  my  passions  bend, 

And  curb  my  floods  of  anguish  as  they  rolL 

In  thee  each  virtue  found  a pleasing  cell, 

Thy  mind  was  honour,  and  thy  soul  divine ; 
With  thee  did  every  god  ^ of  genius  dwell, 
Thou  wast  the  Helicon  of  all  the  nine. 

Fancy,  whose  various  figure-tinctured  vest 
Was  ever  changing  to  a different  hue  ; 

Her  head,  with  varied  bays  and  flow’rets  drest, 
Her  eyes,  two  spangles  of  the  morning  dew. 

With  dancing  attitude  she  swept  thy  string 
And  now  she  soars,  and  now  again  descends 
And  now  reclining  on  the  zephyr’s  wing. 

Unto  the  velvet-vested  mead  she  bends. 

Peace,  deck’d  in  all  the  softness  of  the  dove. 
Over  thy  passions  spread  her  silver  plume  ; 


1 November^  in  the  first  draft 

2 In  the  original, 


ELEGY  ON  PHILLIPS.  28'i 

The  rosy  veil  of  harmony  and  love 
Hung  on  thy  soul  in  one  eternal  bloom. 

Peace,  gentlest,  softest  of  the  virtues,  spread 
Her  silver  pinions,  wet  with  dewy  tears. 

Upon  her  best  distinguished  poet’s  head, 

And  taught  his  lyre  the  music  of  the  spheres. 

Temp’rance,  with  health  and  beauty  in  her  train, 
And  massy-muscled  strength  in  graceful  pride, 
Pointed  at  scarlet  luxury  and  pain, 

Amd  did  at  every  frugal  ^ feast  preside. 

Black  melancholy  stealing  to  the  shade 
With  raging  madness,  frantic,  loud,  and  dire, 
AVhose  bloody  hand  displays  the  reeking  blade, 
Were  strangers  to  thy  heaven-directed  lyre. 

Content,  who  smiles  in  every  frown  of  fate. 
Wreath’d  thy  pacific  brow  and  sooth’d  thy  ill : ^ 
In  thy  own  virtues  and  thy  genius  great. 

The  happy  muse  laid  every  trouble  still. 

But  see ! the  sick’ning  lamp  of  day  retires,  * 

And  the  meek  evening  shakes  the  dusky  gray ; 
The  west  faint  glimmers  with  the  saffron  fires, 
Aaid  like  thy  life,  O Phillips  ! dies  away. 

1 In  the  first  draft,  cheerful. 

2 “ Content,  who  smiles  at  all  the  frowns  of  fate, 

Fann’d  from  idea  ev’ry  seeming  ill.’’ 

8 **  The  sicken’d  glare  of  day  retires.” 


288 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Here,  stretched  upon  this  heaven-ascendmg  hill, 
ril  wait  the  horrors  of  the  coming  night. 

I’ll  imitote  the  gentlj-plaintive  rill, 

And  by  the  glare  of  lambent  vapours  write. 

Wet  with  the  dew  the  yellow  hawthorns  bow ; ' 
The  rustic  whistles  through  the  echoing  cave ; ^ 
Far  o’er  the  lea  the  breathing  cattle  low. 

And  the  full  Avon  lifts  the  darken’d  wave. 

INow,  as  the  mantle  of  the  evening  swells 
Upon  my  mind,  I feel  a thick’ning  gloom  ! 

Ah  ! could  I charm  by  necromantic  spells  ® 

The  soul  of  Phillips  from  the  deathy  tomb  ! 

Then  would  we  wander  through  this  darken’d  vale, 
In  converse  such  as  heavenly  spirits  use. 

And,  borne  upon  the  pinions  ^ of  the  gale. 

Hymn  the  Creator,  and  exert  ® the  muse. 

But,  horror  to  reflection  ! now  no  more 
Will  Phillips  sing,  the  wonder  of  the  plain ! 

When,  doubting  whether  they  might  not  adore, 
Admiring  mortals  heard  his  nervous  strain. 

1 Note  on  this  verse  by  Chatterton,  “ Expunged  as  toe 
flowery  for  grief.’’ 

2 In  the  first  copy — 

“ The  loud  winds  whistle  through  the  echoing  dell  I 
* * * * 

And  the  shrill  shriekings  of  the  screech-owl  swell.’ 

* “ By  friendship’s  potent  spells.” 

* In  the  original  plumage^  5 Exhort. 


ELEGY  ON  PHILLIPS. 


289 


S(^e  ! see  i the  pitchy  vapour  hides  the  lawn, 
Nought  but  a doleful  bell  of  death  is  heard, 

Save  where  into  a blasted  oak  withdrawn 
The  scream  proclaims  the  curst  nocturnal  bird.* 

Now,  rest  my  muse,  but  only  rest  to  weep 
A friend  made  dear  by  every  sacred  tie  ; 
Unknown  to  me  be  comfort  peace  or  sleep : 
Phillips  is  dead — ’tis  pleasure  then  to  die. 

Few  are  the  pleasures  Chatterton  e’er  knew. 
Short  were  the  moments  of  his  transient  peace  5 
But  melancholy  robb’d  him  of  those  few. 

And  this  hath  bid  all  future  comfort  cease. 

And  can  the  muse  be  silent,  Phillips  gone  ! 

And  am  I still  alive  ? My  soul,  arise  ! 

The  robe  of  immortality  put  on, 

And  meet  thy  Phillips  in  his  native  skies. 

TO  THE  READER. 

Observe,  in  favour  of  a hobbling  strain 
Neat  as  exported  from  the  parent  brain, 

And  each  and  every  couplet  I have  penn’d. 

But  httle  labour’d,  and  I never  mend. 

T.  C. 


1 In  the  original  thus  : — 

“ A mad’ning  darkness  reigns  through  all  the  lawn, 
Nought  but  a doleful  bell  of  death  is  heard, 

Save  where  into  a hoary  oak  withdrawn,”  &c. 

VOL.  I.  19 


HOR.  Lib.  1.  Od.  19.’ 


Yes  ! I am  caught,  my  melting  soul 
To  Venus  bends  without  control, 

I pour  th’  empassioned  sigh. 

Ye  Gods  ! what  throbs  my  bosom  move, 
Responsive  to  the  glance  of  love, 

That  beams  from  Stella’s  eye. 

1 These  translations  from  Horace  were  made  by  Chatterton, 
from  Watson’s  literal  version;  a book  which  his  friend  Mr, 
Edward  Gardner  lent  him  for  the  express  purpose. — South- 
ey’s Edition, 

De  Glycera. 

Mater  sseva  Cupidinum, 

Thebanaeque  jubet  me  Semeles  puer, 

Et  lasciva  licentia, 

Finitis  animum  reddere  amoribus. 

Urit  me  Glyceraa  nitor 
Splendentis  Pario  marmore  purius ; 

Urit  grata  protervitas, 

Et  vultus  nimiiim  lubricus  aspici. 

In  me  tota  mens  Venus 

Cypmm  deseruit ; nec  patitur  Scythas, 

Et  versis  animosum  equis 
Parthum  dicere,  nec  quas  nihil  attinent. 

Hie  vivum  mihi  cespitem,  hie 

Verbenas,  pueri,  ponite,  thuraque, 

Bimi  cum  paterS,  meri, 

Mactata  veniet  lenior  hostia. 

Hor.  Lih.  1.  Carm.  19. 

Watson’s  Translation  is  as  follows  : — 

“ Of  Glycera. 

^ The  cruel  Queen  of  Love,  and  Bacchus,  son  of  the  The 


TRANSLATIONS  OF  HORACE. 


291 


Oh,  how  divinely  fair  that  face. 

And  what  a sweet  resistless  grace 
On  every  feature  dwells  ! 

And  on  those  features  all  the  while, 

The  softness  of  each  frequent  smile 
Her  sweet  good-nature  tells. 

O Love  ! Tm  thine — no  more  I sing 
Heroic  deeds — the  sounding  string 
Forgets  its  wonted  strains ; 

For  aught  but  love  the  lyre’s  unstrung, 

Love  melts  and  trembles  on  my  tongue. 

And  thrills  in  every  vein. 

Invoking  the  propitious  skies. 

The  green-sod  altar  let  us  rise, 

Let  holy  incense  smoke : 

And  if  we  pour  the  sparkling  wine. 

Sweet,  gentle  peace  may  still  be  mine. 

This  dreadful  chain  be  broke  ! 

# 

ban  Semele,  assisted  by  licentious  desires,  conspire  to  rekindle 
in  me  the  passion  of  love,  which  I thought  had  been  quite  ex- 
tinguished. I am  ravished  with  the  beauty  of  Glycera,  which 
far  excels  the  finest  Parian  marble.  I am  struck  with 
her  agreeable  humour  and  fine  complexion,  which  cannot 
be  looked  on  without  manifest  danger.  Venus  hath  left 
Cyprus  to  reign  in  my  heart,  and  will  not  permit  me  to  sing 
of  either  the  warlike  Scythians,  or  of  the  Parthians,  who 
fight  so  boldly  while  they  are  flying  ; or  of  any  thing  else, 
but  what  relates  to  her.  Bring  me  then,  boys,  some  green 
^urf,  vervain,  incense,  and  a cup  of  two-year-old  wine : when 
f have  offered  this  goddess  a sacrifice,  she  will  be  more  mild 
\nd  tractable. 


HOR.  Lib.  L Od.  5 


What  gentle  youth,  my  lovely  fair  one,  say, 
With  sweets  perfum’d  now  courts  thee  to  the 
bow’r, 

Where  glows  with  lustre  red  the  rose  of  May, 

To  form  thy  couch  in  love’s  enchanting  hour  ? 


1 Ad  Pyrrham. 

Quis  multa  gracilis  te  puer  in  rosA 
Perfusus  liquidis  urget  odoribus 
Grato,  Pyrrha,  sub  antroV 
Cui  flavam  religas  comam, 

Simplex  munditiis  ? heu,  quoties  fidem 
Mutatosque  Decs  flebit,  et  aspera 
Nigris  aequora  ventis 
Emirabitur  insolens, 

Qui  nunc  te  fruitur  credulus  aurea : 

Qui  semper  vacuam,  semper  amabilem 
Sperat,  nescius  auras 
Fallacis  I miseri,  quibus 
Inteutata  nites ! me  tabula  sacer 
Votiva  paries  indicat  uvida 
Suspendisse  potenti 
Vestimenta  maris  Deo. 

Hor.  Lib.  i.  Carm.  6. 

“ Who,  Pyrrha,  is  this  slender  young  gallant,  perfumed 
with  rich  odours,  that  caresses  you  on  a bed  of  roses  in  a 
pleasant  grotto!  For  whom,  pray,  do  you  bind  up  your 
golden  locks,  genteely  dressed,  though  plain  ? Poor  unexpe- 
riei.ced  youth  I how  oft  will  he  have  cause  to  complain  of 


TRANSLATIONS  OF  HORACE. 


293 


By  zephyrs  wav’d,  why  does  thy  loose  hair  sweep 
In  simple  curls  around  thy  polish’d  brow  ? 

The  wretch  that  loves  thee  now  too  soon  shall 
weep 

Thy  faithless  beauty  and  thy  broken  vow. 

your  treachery,  and  to  lament  his  own  hard  fate!  How  will 
he  stand  amazed  to  see  your  smooth  temper  all  on  a sudden 
ruffled  as  the  sea  with  stormy  winds!  he  who  now  enjoys 
your  charms  without  fear,  and  who,  unacquainted  with  your 
coquette  airs,  fondly  thinks  you  are  solely  his,  and  that  you 
will  always  be  the  same.  Thrice  wretched  they,  who,  stran- 
gers to  your  arts,  are  allured  with  your  beauty.  But  as 
trophies  of  my  narrow  escape,  I have,  as  I vowed,  hung  up  my 
tablet,  and  dripping  wet  clothes  in  the  temple  of  Neptune, 
that  great  ruler  of  the  sea.” — Watson’s  Translation^  pub- 
lished in  1741. 

The  reader  will  be  pleased  to  compare  with  Chatterton’s 
version  of  the  above,  the  same  Ode  rendered  by  Milton  “ al- 
most word  for  word  without  rhyme,  according  to  the  Latin 
measure,  as  near  as  the  language  will  permit.” 

What  slender  youth  bedew’d  with  liquid  odours 
Courts  thee  on  roses  in  some  pleasant  cave, 

Pyrrha?  for  whom  bind’st  thou 
In  wreaths  thy  golden  hair. 

Plain  in  thy  neatness  ? Oh,  how  oft  shall  he 
On  faith  and  changed  gods  complain,  and  seas 
Rough  with  black  winds  and  storms 
Unwonted  shall  admire ! 

Who  now  enjoys  thee  credulous,  all  gold. 

Who  always  vacant  always  amiable 
Hopes  thee,  of  flattering  gales 
Unmindful.  Hapless  they 

To  whom  thou  untried  seem’st  fair.  Me  in  my  vow’d 
Picture  the  sacred  wall  declares  t’  have  hung 
My  dank  and  dropping  weeds 
To  the  stern  god  of  sea. 


294 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Though  fjoft  the  beams  of  thy  delusive  eyes 
As  the  smooth  surface  of  th’  untroubled  stream 
Yet,  ah ! too  soon  th’  extatic  vision  flies — 

Flies  like  the  fairy  paintings  of  a dream. 

Unhappy  youth,  oh,  shun  the  warm  embrace. 

Nor  trust  too  much  afiection’s  flattering  smile ; 
Dark  poison  lurks  beneath  that  charming  face, 
Those  melting  eyes  but  languish  to  beguile. 

Thank  heaven,  I’ve  broke  the  sweet  but  galling 
chain, 

Worse  than  the  horrors  of  the  stormy  main  ! 


ELEGY 

ON  MR.  WILLIAM  SMITH.^ 

Ascend,  my  muse,  on  sorrow’s  sable  plume. 

Let  the  soft  number  meet  the  swelling  sigh ; 
With  Laureated  chaplets  deck  the  tomb. 

The  blood-stain’d  tomb  where  Smith  and  comfort 
lie. 

I Happily  mistaken,  having  since  heard,  from  good  author 
tty,  it  is  Peter. — Chatterton. 


THE  HAPPY  PAIR. 


295 


1 loved  him  with  a brother’s  ardent  love, 

Beyond  the  love  which  tenderest  brothers 
bear ; 

Though  savage  kindred  bosoms  cannot  move, 
Friendship  shall  deck  his  urn  and  pay  the  tear 

Despised,  an  alien  to  thy  father’s  breast. 

Thy  ready  services  repaid  with  hate  ; 

By  brother,  father,  sisters,  all  distrest. 

They  push’d  thee  on  to  death,  they  urged  thy 
fate. 

Ye  callous-breasted  brutes  in  human  form. 

Have  you  not  often  boldly  wish’d  him  dead  ? 

He’s  gone,  ere  yet  his  fire  of  man  was  warm, 

O may  liis  crying  blood  be  on  your  head ! 


THE  HAPPY  PAIR. 

STREPHON. 

Lucy,  since  the  knot  was  tied. 

Which  confirm’d  thee  Strephon’s  bride, 
All  is  pleasure,  all  is  joy, 

Married  love  can  never  cloy ; 

Learn,  ye  rovers,  learn  from  this. 
Marriage  is  the  road  to  bliss. 


296 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


LUCY. 

TTliilst  thy  kindness  ev’ry  hour 
Gathers  pleasure  with  its  power, 
Love  and  tenderness  in  thee 
Must  be  happiness  to  me. 

Learn,  ye  rovers,  learn  from  this, 
Marriage  is  substantial  bliss. 

BOTH. 

Godlike  Hymen,  ever  reign, 

Ruler  of  the  happy  train. 

Lift  thy  flaming  torch  above 
All  the  flights  of  wanton  love ; 
Peaceful,  solid,  blest,  serene, 
Triumph  in  the  married  scene. 

STREPHON. 

Blest  with  thee,  the  sultry  day 
Flies  on  wings  of  down  away, 

Lab’ ring  o’er  the  yellow  plain, 

Open  to  the  sun  and  rain ; 

All  my  painful  labours  fly, 

When  I think  my  Lucy’s  nigh. 

LUCY. 

0 my  Strephon,  could  my  heart 
Happiness  to  thee  impart, 

Joy  should  sing  away  the  hour, 
Love  should  ev’ry  pleasure  shower : 


SONGS. 


297 


Search  my  faithful  breast,  and  see, 
I am  blest  in  loving  thee. 

BOTH. 

Godlike  Hymen,  ever  reign, 

Ruler  of  the  happy  train. 

Lift  thy  flaming  torch  above 
All  the  flights  of  wanton  love  ; 
Peaceful,  solid,  blest,  serene. 
Triumph  in  the  married  scene. 


SONGS. 

A BACCHANALIAN. 

SUNG  BY  MR.  REINHOLD. 

Bacchus,  ever  smiling  power, 
Patron  of  the  festive  hour  ! 

Here  thy  genuine  nectar  roll 
To  the  wide  capacious  bowl, 
While  gentility  and  glee 
Make  these  gardens  worthy  thee. 

Bacchus,  ever  mirth  and  joy, 
Laughing,  wanton,  happy  boy  I 


298 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Here  advance  thy  clustered  crown, 
Send  thy  purple  blessings  down  ; 
With  the  Nine  to  please  conspire, 
Wreathe  the  ivy  round  the  lyre. 


THE  INVITATION. 

TO  BE  SUNG  BY 

MRS.  BARTHELEMON  AND  MASTER  CHENEY. 

Away  to  the  woodlands,  away ! 

The  shepherds  are  forming  a ring, 

To  dance  to  the  honour  of  May, 

And  welcome  the  pleasures  of  Spring. 

The  shepherdess  labours  a grace. 

And  shines  in  her  Sunday’s  array. 

And  bears  in  the  bloom  of  her  face 
The  charms  and  the  beauties  of  May. 

Away  to  the  woodlands,  away ! 

The  shepherds  are  forming  a ring,  &c. 

Away  to  the  woodlands,  away  I 
And  join  with  the  amorous  tram : 

’Tis  treason  to  labour  to  day. 

Now  Bacchus  and  Cupid  must  reign. 


A BACCHANALIAN. 


299 


With  gai*lands  of  primroses  made, 

And  crown’d  with  the  sweet  blooming  spray, 
Through  woodland,  and  meadow,  and  shade, 
We’ll  dance  to  the  honour  of  May. 

Away,  &c. 


A BACCHANALIAN. 

What  is  war  and  all  its  joys  ? 
Useless  mischief,  empty  noise. 
What  are  arms  and  trophies  won  ? 
Spangles  glittering  in  the  sun. 
Kosy  Bacchus,  give  me  wine. 
Happiness  is  only  thine  ! 

What  is  love  without  the  bowl.^ 
’Tis  a languor  of  the  soul ; 
Crown’d  with  ivy,  Venus  charms, 
Ivy  courts  me  to  her  arms. 
Bacchus,  give  me  love  and  wine. 
Happiness  is  only  thine  I 


THE  VIRGIN’S  CIIOICE.i 


Young  Strephon  is  as  fair  a swain 
As  e’er  a shepherd  of  the  plain 
In  all  the  hundred  round  ; 

But  Ralph  has  tempting  shoulders,  true, 
And  will  as  quickly  buckle  to 
As  any  to  be  found. 

Young  Colin  has  a comely  face, 

And  cudgels  with  an  active  grace, 

In  every  thing  complete  ; 

But  Hobbinol  can  dance  divine, 

Gods  ! how  his  manly  beauties  shine, 

Wlien  jigging  with  his  feet. 

Roger  is  very  stout  and  strong. 

And  Thyrsis  sings  a heavenly  song. 

Soft  Giles  is  brisk  and  small. 

Who  shall  I choose?  who  shall  I shun? 
Why  must  I be  confined  to  one  ? 

Why  can’t  I have  them  all  ? 

1 This  song,  together  with  the  four  preceding  it,  appear  to 
have  been  supplied  by  Chatterton  for  the  concerts  held  at  the 
Marylebone  Gardens.  They  were  first  printed  in  the  same 
pamphlet  with  “ The  Revenge,”  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  after 
his  death. 


TO  MRS.  HEYWOOD,  THE  NOVELIST.i 


I. 

Let  Sappho’s  name  be  heard  no  more, 
Or  Dido’s  fate  by  bards  be  sung, 
When  on  the  billow-beaten  shore 
The  echo  of  JEneas  rung. 


II. 

Love,  the  great  ruler  of  the  breast, 

Proud  and  impatient  to  control, 

I These  lines  are  taken  from  a volume  of  Mrs.  Hey  wood’s 
Novels,  formerly  belonging  to  the  circulating  library  of  a 
Bristol  stationer,  and  now  in  the  possession  of  the  Earl  of 
Limerick.  They  appeared  a few  years  since  in  one  of  the 
monthly  magazines,  but  now  for  the  first  time  make  part  of 
Ohatterton’s  collected  Works.  The  Authoress  to  whom  they 
are  addressed  was  not  distinguished  for  the  morality  of  her 
earlier  works.  She  produced  “The  Court  of  Carimania,” 
“ The  New  Utopia,”  with  others  of  a like  kind.  Pope 
branded  her  for  them  in  the  Dunciad : 

“ See  in  the  circle  next,  Eliza  placed, 

Two  babes  of  love  close  clinging  to  her  waist,”  &c. 

She  afterwards  appeared  as  a moralist,  and  produced  “ The 
Female  Spectator,”  four  vols.,  and  numerous  other  works. 
She  is  represented  as  a woman  of  strict  decorum  and  delicacy 
in  her  private  character.  She  died  in  1756.  During  the 
whole  of  Chatterton’s  life  her  works  continued  their  great 
popularity.  They  are  now  entirely  forgotten. 


302 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


In  every  novel  stands  confest, 

Waking  to  nature’s  scenes  the  soul. 

III. 

Heywood  ! thy  genius  was  divine ; 

The  softer  passions  own’d  thy  sway ; 
Thy  easy  prose,  the  flowing  line, 
Accomplishments  supreme  display. 


IV. 

Pope,  son  of  envy  and  of  fame, 

Penn’d  the  invidious  line  in  vain  ; 
To  blast  thy  literary  name. 

Exceeds  the  power  of  human  strain* 


V. 

Ye  gay,  ye  sensible,  ye  fair. 

To'  what  her  genius  wrote  attend ; 
You’ll  find  engaging  morals  there 
To  help  the  lover  and  the  friend. 


TO  MISS  C. 


ON  HEARING  HER  PLAY  ON  THE  HARPSI- 
CHORD.^ 

Had  Israel’s  Monarch,  when  misfortune’s  dart 
Pierced  to  its  deepest  core  his  heaving  breast, 
Heard  but  thy  dulcet  tones,  his  sorrowing  heart 
At  such  soft  tones  had  soothed  itself  to  rest 

Yes,  sweeter  far  than  Jesse’s  son’s  thy  strains — 
Yet  what  avail  if  sorrow  they  disarm  ? 

Love’s  sharper  sting  within  the  soul  remains. 

The  melting  movements  wound  us  as  they 
chai'm. 


TO  MR.  POWEL.‘^ 

What  language,  Powel ! can  thy  merits  tell, 
By  nature  form’d  in  every  path  t’  excel ; 

To  strike  the  feeling  soul  with  magic  skill. 
When  every  passion  bends  beneath  thy  will  ? 

1 From  a MS.  of  Chatterton’s,  in  the  British  Museum. 
« Ibid. 


304 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


Loud  as  the  bowlings  of  the  northern  wind, 

Thy  scenes  of  anger  harrow  up  the  mind ; 

But  most  thy  softer  tones  our  bosoms  move, 
When  Juliet  listens  to  her  Borneo’s  love. 

How  sweet  thy  gentle  movements  then  to  see — 
Each  melting  heart  must  sympathize  with  thee. 

Yet,  though  design’d  in  every  walk  to  shine, 
Thine  is  the  furious,  and  the  tender  thine; 
Though  thy  strong  feelings  and  thy  native  fire 
Still  force  the  willing  gazers  to  admire. 

Though  great  thy  praises  for  thy  scenic  art. 

We  love  thee  for  the  virtues  of  thy  heart. 


THE  RESIGNATION.! 

O God,  whose  thunder  shakes  the  sky, 
Whose  eye  this  atom  globe  surveys. 
To  thee,  my  only  rock,  I fly. 

Thy  mercy  in  thy  justice  praise. 


1 James  Montgomery,  the  author  of  “ The  Wanderer  of 
Switzerland,”  in  a letter  to  Mr.  Dix,  alluded  to  by  that  gentle- 
man in  his  life  of  Chatterton,  says  with  reference  to  these 
verses  that  they  “ show  at  least  some  ‘ light  from  heaven  ’ 
breathing  through  the  darkness  of  his  soul,  which  affected 
nie  so  deeply,  when  as  a young  man  I read  them,  that  I re- 


THE  RESIGNATION. 


305 


The  mystic  mazes  of  thy  will, 

The  shadows  of  celestial  light, 

Are  past  the  pow’r  of  human  skill, — 

But  what  th’  Eternal  acts  is  right. 

Eponded  to  them  from  the  depth  of  my  heart,  with  a sympa- 
thy which  I endeavoured  to  express  in  one  of  my  earlier 
poems.” 

The  following  are  Mr.  Montgomery’s  verses  i — 

“ A dying  swan  of  Pindus  sings 
In  wildly-raournful  strains  ; 

As  Death’s  cold  fingers  snap  the  strings 
His  suffering  lyre  complains. 

Soft  as  the  mist  of  evening  wends 
Along  the  shadowy  vale  ; 

Sad  as  in  storms  the  moon  ascends, 

And  turns  the  darkness  pale  ; 

So  soft  the  melting  numbers  flow 
From  his  harmonious  lips  ; 

So  sad  his  woe-wan  features  show, 

Just  fading  in  eclipse. 

The  Bard  to  dark  despair  resign’d. 

With  his  expiring  art. 

Sings  ’midst  the  tempest  of  his  mind 
The  shipwreck  of  his  heart. 

If  Hope  still  seem  to  linger  nigh. 

And  hover  o’er  his  head. 

Her  pinions  are  too  weak  to  fly, 

Or  Hope  ere  now  had  fled. 

Rash  IVKnstrel  ! who  can  hear  thy  songs, 

Nor  long  to  share  thy  fire  ? 

Who  read  thine  errors  and  thy  wrongs. 

Nor  execrate  the  lyre  ? 

20 


VOL.  I. 


306 


ACKNOWLEDGED  TOEMS. 


0 tcac  li  me  in  the  trying  hour, 

When  anguish  swells  the  dewy  tear, 
To  still  my  sorrows,  own  thy  pow’r. 

Thy  goodness  love,  thy  justice  fear. 

If  in  this  bosom  aught  but  Thee 

Encroaching  sought  a boundless  sway, 
Omniscience  could  the  danger  see. 

And  Mercy  look  the  cause  away. 

Then  why,  my  soul,  dost  thou  complain  ? 

Why  drooping  seek  the  dark  recess  ? 
Shake  off  the  melancholy  chain, 

For  God  created  all  to  bless.^ 

But  ah  ! my  breast  is  human  still ; 

The  rising  sigh,  the  falling  tear. 

My  languid  vitals’  feeble  rill. 

The  sickness  of  my  soul  declare. 


The  lyre  that  sunk  thee  to  the  grave, 

When  bursting  into  bloom, 

That  lyre  the  power  to  genius  gave 
To  blossom  in  the  tomb. 

Yes  ; till  his  memory  fail  with  years. 

Shall  Time  thy  strains  recite  ; 

And  while  thy  story  swells  his  tears. 

Thy  song  shall  charm  his  flight.” 

1 Heav’n  is  all  love  ; all  joy  in  giving  joy  ; 

It  never  had  created,  but  to  bless. — 

Young’s  Night  Thoughts. 


chatterton’s  will. 


307 


But  jet,  with  fortitude  resigned, 

I’ll  thank  th’  inflicter  of  the  blow  ; 
Forbid  the  sigh,  compose  mj  mind, 

Nor  let  the  gush  of  mis’rj  flow. 

The  gloomj  mantle  of  the  night. 

Which  on  mj  sinking  spirit  steals, 
Will  vanish  at  the  morning  light. 

Which  God,  mj  East,  mj  sun  reveals. 


CHATTERTON’S  WILL. 

1770.1 

this  wrote  between  11  and  2 o’clock  Satur- 
day, in  the  utmost  distress  of  mind.  April  14, 1770. 

N.B. — In  a dispute  concerning  the  character  of 

1 It  was  the  accidental  sight  of  this  Will  which  occasioned 
Mr.  Lambert  to  part  with  Chatterton  ; when  the  latter,  a few 
days  after,  set  off  for  London. — Without  this  intimation,  and 
attending  to  the  date^  the  reader  might  suppose  that  the  above 
was  the  will  which  Chatterton  wrote  immediately  preceding 
his  death.  Dr.  Gregory  states,  that  he  was  informed  on  good 
authority,  that  this  will  “ was  occasioned  by  the  l efusal  of  a 
gentleman,  whom  he  had  complimented  in  his  poems,  to  ac 
commodate  him  with  a supply  of  money.”  The  MS.  in 
Chatterton’s  handwriting  is  preserved  in  the  Library  of  the 
Bristol  Institution. 


m 


ACKNOWLEDGED  POEMS. 


David,  Mr. argued  that  he  must  be  a holj 

man,  from  the  strains  of  piety  that  breathe  through 
his  whole  works.  I being  of  a contrary  opinion, 
and  knowing  that  a great  genius  can  effect  any 
thing,  endeavouring  in  the  foregoing  Poems  ^ to 
represent  an  enthusiastic  Methodist,  intended  to 
send  it  to  Romaine,  and  impose  it  upon  the  infatu- 
ated world  as  a reality  ; but  thanks  to  Burgum’s 
generosity,  I am  now  employed  in  matters  of 
more  importance. 

Saturday,  April  20,  1770. 

Burgum,  I thank  thee,  thou  hast  let  me  see 
That  Bristol  has  impress’d  her  stamp  on  thee, 
Thy  generous  spirit  emulates  the  Mayor’s, 

Thy  generous  spirit  with  thy  Bristol’s  pairs. 

Gods ! what  would  Burgum  give  to  get  a name, 
And  snatch  his  blundering  dialect  from  shame  ! 
What  would  he  give,  to  hand  his  memory  down 
To  time’s  remotest  boundary  ? — A Crown.^ 

Would  you  ask  more,  his  swelling  face  looks  blue ; 
Futurity  he  rates  at  two  pounds  two. 

Well,  Burgum,  take  thy  laurel  to  thy  brow ; 

With  a rich  saddle  decorate  a sow. 

Strut  in  lambics,  totter  in  an  Ode, 

Promise,  and  never  pay,  and  be  the  mode. 


1 What  poems  are  here  meant  is  uncertain. 

2 The  sum  given  to  Chatterton  by  Mr.  Burgum  for  hia 
oedigree. 


chatterton’s  will 


309 


Latcott,  for  thee,  I know  thy  heart  is  good, 
But  ah  ! thy  merit’s  seldom  understood  ; 

Too  bigoted  to  whimsies,  which  thy  youth 
Received  to  venerate  as  Gospel  truth. 

Thy  friendship  never  could  be  dear  to  me, 
Since  all  I am  is  opposite  to  thee. 

If  ever  obligated  to  thy  purse, 

Rowley  discharges  all — my  first  chief  curse  ! 
For  had  I never  known  the  antique  lore, 

I ne’er  had  ventur’d  from  my  peaceful  shore, 
To  be  the  wreck  of  promises  and  hopes, 

A Boy  of  Learning,  and  a Bard  of  Tropes  ; 
But  happy  in  my  humble  sphere  had  moved, 
Untroubled,  unsuspected,  unbelov’d.^ 


1 Such  was  Chatterton’s  firmness  of  perseverance,  that  he 
seems  to  attest  the  originality  of  Rowley,  even  in  the  WiU 
which  he  wrote  before  his  projected  suicide.  This  circum- 
stance is  much  founded  on  by  believers.  To  me  it  only 
affords  an  additional  proof  of  the  unconquerable  and  haughty 
perseverance  of  his  character.  I attach  no  implicit  faith  to 
dying  declarations  ; for  upon  points  in  which  fame  is  impli- 
cated, the  voice  of  the  passions  is  heard  even  in  the  hour  of 
t eath.  I disclaim  every  application  of  the  illustration  which 
can  be  disrespectful  to  the  memory  of  Chatterton  ; but  it 
is  well  known  that  criminals,  whose  crimes  are  not  of  a 
nature  to  meet  public  sympathy,  often  at  their  death  en- 
deavour, by  a denial  of  guilt  most  satisfactorily  proved,  to 
avert  the  odium  attached  to  their  persons  and  memory.  It 
may  be  thbught  that  Chatterton  would  have  better  consulted 
his  own  fame  by  avowing  these  beautiful  poems  ; but  the 
pride  of  every  one  is  not  sustained  by  the  same  nutrimeRt. 
He  probably  deprecated  the  doubtful  fame  of  an  ingenious 
but  detected  impostor,  and  preferred  the  internal  conscious- 


310 


chattkrton’s  will. 


To  Barrett  next,  he  has  my  thanks  sincere, 

For  all  the  little  knowledge  I had  here,. 

But  what  was  knowledge  ? Could  it  here  succeed 
When  scarcely  twenty  in  the  town  can  read  ? 
Could  knowledge  bring  in  interest  to  maintain 
The  wild  expenses  of  a Poet’s  brain ; 
Disinterested  Burgum  never  meant 
To  take  my  knowledge  for  his  gain  per  cent. 
When  wildly  squandering  ev’ry  thing  I got. 

On  books  and  learning,  and  the  Lord  knows  what, 
Could  Burgum  then,  my  critic,  patron,  friend ! 
Without  security  attempt  to  lend  ? 

No,  that  would  be  imprudent  in  the  man  ; 

Accuse  him  of  imprudence  if  you  can. 

He  promis’d,  I confess,  and  seem’d  sincere ; 

Few  keep  an  honorary  promise  here. 

I thank  thee,  Barrett — thy  advice  was  right. 

But  ’twas  ordain’d  by  fate  that  I should  write. 
Spite  of  the  prudence  of  this  prudent  place, 

I wrote  my  mind,  nor  hid  the  author’s  face. 
Harris  ere  long,  when  reeking  from  the  press, 

My  numbers  make  his  self-importance  less, 

Will  wrinkle  up  his  face,  and  damn  the  day, 

And  drag  my  body  to  the  triple  way — 

Poor  superstitious  mortals ! wreak  your  hate 
Upon  my  cold  remains 

ness,  that,  by  persisting  in  the  deception  he  had  commenced) 
future  ages  might  venerate  the  poems  of  Chatterton,  undef 
oatronage  of  the  fictitious  Rowley. — Sir  Wai^ter  Scott. 


OIIATTERTON  S WILL. 


311 


This  is  the  last  Will  and  Testament  of  me, 
Thomas  Chatterton,  of  the  city  of  Bristol ; being 
sound  in  body,  or  it  is  the  fault  of  my  last  surgeon : 
the  soundness  of  my  mind,  the  coroner  and  jury 
are  to  be  judges  of,  desiring  them  to  take  notice, 
that  the  most  perfect  masters  of  human  nature  in 
Bristol  distinguish  me  by  the  title  of  the  Mad 
Genius ; therefore,  if  I do  a mad  action,  it  is  con- 
formable to  every  action  of  my  life,  which  all 
savoured  of  insanity.  ^ 

Item.  If  after  my  death,  which  will  happen 
to-morrow  night  before  eight  o’clock,  being  the 
Feast  of  the  Resurrection,  the  coroner  and  jury 
bring  it  in  lunacy,  I will  and  direct,  that  Paul 
Farr,  Esq.,  and  Mr.  John  Flower,  at  their  joint 
expense,  cause  my  body  to  be  interred  in  the 
tomb  of  my  fathers,  and  raise  the  monument  over 
my  body  to  the  height  of  four  feet  five  inches, 
placing  the  present  flat  stone  on  the  top,  and 
adding  six  tablets. 


1 Chatterton  was  insane, — ^better  proof  of  this  than  the 
coroner’s  inquest  is,  that  there  was  insanity  in  his  family. 
(His  sister,  Mrs.  Newton,  was  for  some  period  confined  in  a 
mad-house.)  His  biographers  were  not  informed  of  this  im 
portant  fact;  and  the  editors  of  his  collected  works  forbore 
to  state  it,  because  the  collection  was  made  for  the  benefit  of 
his  surviving  relations,  a sister  and  niece,  in  both  of  whou? 
he  disease  had  manifested  itself. — Southey. 


312 


chatterton’s  will. 


On  the  first,  to  be  engraved  in  Old  English 
characters  : — 

VouB  qm  par  fcf  pase? 

33ur  I’ame  ^uaterofne  €:t)atterton  prfe^ 

3Lz  ^ors  tif  of  fcf  gfst 
S.’ame  recegbe  Crfst. 

On  the  second  tablet,  in  Old  English  charac- 
ters : — 

©rate  pro  anfmalnis  Bdanus  ©Satterton,  et  ^Ifcfa 
Uperfs  efus,  quf  quftrem  Planus  otfct  ):  life  mensfs 
Nobemb.  quorum  anfmabus  propfnetur 

20eus  ^men. 

On  the  third  tablet,  in  Roman  characters  : — 

SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

THOMAS  CHATTERTON, 

Subchaunter  of  the  Cathedral  of  this  city,  whose 
ancestors  were  residents  of  St.  Mary  Redcliffe 
since  the  year  1140.  He  died  the  7th  of  August, 
1752. 

On  the  fourth  tablet,  in  Roman  characters : — 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

THOMAS  CHATTERTON. 


1 Whatever  obsolete  spelling  or  mistakes  may  be  observed 
here,  either  in  the  French  or  the  Latin,  the  reader  is  desired 
to  consider  as  the  author’s,  not  the  editor’s. 


chatterton’s  will. 


313 


Readei,  judge  not ; if  thou  art  a Christian — • 
believe  that  he  shall  be  judged  by  a superior 
Power — to  that  Power  alone  is  he  now  answer- 
able} 

On  the  jftfth  and  sixth  tablets,  which  shall  front 
each  other : — 

Atchievements : viz.  on  the  one,  vest,  a fess, 
or ; crest,  a mantle  of  estate,  gules,  supported  by 
a spear,  sable,  headed,  or.  On  the  other,  or,  a 
fess  vert,  crest,  a cross  of  Knights  Templars. — 
And  I will  and  direct  that  if  the  coroner’s  inquest 
bring  it  in  felo-de-se,  the  said  monument  shall  be 
notwithstanding  erected.  And  if  the  said  Paul 
Farr  and  John  Flower  have  souls  so  Bristolish 
as  to  refuse  this  my  request,  they  will  transmit  a 
copy  of  my  Will  to  the  Society  for  supporting  the 
Bill  of  Rights,  whom  I hereby  empower  to  build 
the  said  monument  according  to  the  aforesaid 
directions.  And  if  they  the  said  Paul  Farr  and 
John  Flower  should  build  the  said  monument, 
I will  and  direct  that  the  second  edition  of  my 
Kew  Gardens  shall  be  dedicated  to  them  in  the 
following  dedication: — To  Paul  Farr  and  John 
Flower,  Esqrs.,  this  book  is  most  humbly  dedicated 
by  the  Author’s  Ghost. 


''  This  suitable  portion  of  the  inscription  has  been  engraved 
on  the  monument  recently  erected  to  Chatterton’s  memory 
m Bristol. 


314 


ciiatterton’s  will. 


Item.  I give  all  mj  vigour  and  fire  of  youth 
to  Mr.  George  Catcott,  being  sensible  he  is  most 
in  want  of  it. 

Item.  From  the  same  charitable  motive,  I 
give  and  bequeath  unto  the  Reverend  Mr.  Camp- 
lin,  senior,  all  my  humility.  To  Mr.  Burgum  all 
ray  prosody  and  grammar, — likewise  one  moiety 
of  my  modesty ; the  other  moiety  to  any  young 
lady  who  can  prove  without  blushing  that  she 
wants  that  valuable  commodity.  To  Bristol,  all 
my  spirit  and  disinterestedness,  parcels  of  goods 
unknown  on  her  quay  since  the  days  of  Canning 
and  Rowley  ! ’Tis  true,  a charitable  gentleman, 
one  Mr.  Colston,  smuggled  a considerable  quan- 
tity of  it,  but  it  being  proved  that  he  was  a papist, 
the  Worshipful  Society  of  Aldermen  endeavoured 
to  throttle  him  with  the  oath  of  allegiance.  I 
leave  also  my  religion  to  Dr.  Cutts  Barton,  Dean 
of  Bristol,  hereby  empowering  the  Sub-Sacrist  to 
strike  him  on  the  head  when  he  goes  to  sleep  in 
church.  My  powers  of  utterance  I give  to  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Broughton,  hoping  he  will  employ 
them  to  a better  purpose  than  reading  lectures  on 
the  immortality  of  the  soul.  I leave  the  Rev- 
erend Mr.  Catcott  some  little  of  my  free-thinking, 
that  he  may  put  on  spectacles  of  reason  and  see 
how  vilely  he  is  duped  in  believing  the  Scriptures 
literally.  I wish  he  and  his  brother  George 
ivoul^  know  how  far  I am  their  real  enemy ; but 


chatterton’s  will. 


315 


I have  an  unlucky  way  of  raillery,  and  when  the 
strong  fit  of  satire  is  upon  me,  I spare  neither 
friend  nor  foe.  This  is  my  excuse  for  what  1 
have  said  of  them  elsewhere.  I leave  Mr.  Clay- 
field  the  sincerest  thanks  my  gratitude  can  give ; 
and  I wiU  and  direct  that  whatever  any  person 
may  think  the  pleasure  of  reading  my  works 
worth,  they  immediately  pay  their  own  valuation 
to  him,  since  it  is  then  become  a lawful  debt  to 
me,  and  to  him  as  my  executor  in  this  case. 

I leave  my  moderation  to  the  politicians  on 
both  sides  of  the  question.  I leave  my  generosity 
to  our  present  Right  Worshipful  Mayor,  Thomas 
Harris,  Esq.  I give  my  abstinence  to  the  com- 
pany at  the  Sheriffs’  annual  feast  in  general,  more 
particularly  the  Aldermen. 

Item.  I give  and  bequeath  to  Mr.  Matthew 
Mease  a mourning  ring  with  this  motto,  ‘‘  Alas, 
poor  Chatterton  ! ” provided  he  pays  for  it  him- 
self. Item.  I leave  the  young  ladies  all  the 
letters  they  have  had  from  me,  assuring  them  that 
they  need  be  under  no  apprehensions  from  the 
appearance  of  my  ghost,  for  I die  for  none  of 
them.  Item.  I leave  all  my  debts,  the  whole 
not  five  pounds,  to  the  payment  of  the  charitable 
and  generous  Chamber  of  Bristol,  on  penalty,  if 
refused,  to  hinder  every  member  from  a good 
dinner  by  appearing  in  the  form  of  a bailiff*.  If 
ID  defiance  of  this  terrible  spectre,  they  obsti- 


316 


chatterton’s  will. 


natelj  persist  in  refusing  to  discharge  my  debts, 
let  my  two  creditors  apply  to  the  supporters  of 
the  Bill  of  Rights.  Item.  I leave  my  mother 
and  sister  to  the  protection  of  my  friends,  if  I 
have  any. — Executed  in  the  presence  of  Om- 
niscience this  14th  of  April,  1770. 

THOS.  CHATTERTON. 

CODICIL. 

It  is  my  pleasure  that  Mr.  Cocking  and  Miss 
Farley  print  this  my  Will  the  first  Saturday  after 
my  death. — T.  C.' 

» Chatterton’s  Will  appears  to  have  been  written  a few 
days  before  he  left  Bristol  to  go  to  London;  when  in  conse- 
quence, as  it  should  seem,  of  his  being  refused  a small  sum 
of  money  by  a gentleman,  whom  he  had  occasionally  com- 
plimented in  his  poems,  he  had  taken  a resolution  of  destroy- 
ing himself  the  next  day.  What  prevented  him  from  carrying 
this  design  at  that  time  into  execution  does  not  appear,  but 
the  whole  writing  on  this  occasion  is  worth  attention,  as  it 
throws  much  light  on  his  real  character,  his  acquaintance 
with  old  English  writers,  and  his  capability  of  understanding 
and  imitating  old  French  and  Latin  inscriptions,  not  indeed 
grammatically,  but  sufficiently  to  answer  the  purpose  to 
which  he  often  applied  this  knowledge.  From  this  writing 
it  also  appears  that  he  would  not  allow  King  David  to  have 
been  a holy  man,  from  the  strains  of  piety  and  devotion  in 
his  psalms,  because  a great  genius  can  affect  any  thing  ; that 
is,  assume  any  character  and  mode  of  writing  he  pleases.  This 
is  an  answer  from  Chatterton  himself,  to  one  argument,  and 
a very  powerful  one,  in  support  of  the  authenticity  of  Row- 
ley’s  poems,  but  in  so  guarded  a manner,  that  it  is  not  easy 
to  draw  any  certain  information  for  or  against  their  authen- 
ticity; though  the  parties  on  both  sides  have  attempted  it 


chatterton’s  wile.  31i 

riie  address  to  ^Ir.  Barrett  does  no  less  credit  to  his  own 
feelings,  than  to  that  gentleman’s  treatment  of  him ; and  the 
apology  that  follows  to  the  two  Mr.  Catcotts,  for  some  effu- 
sions of  his  satire  upon  them,  is  the  best  recompense  he  then 
had  in  his  power  to  make  to  those  gentlemen,  from  whom  he 
had  experienced  much  civility  and  kindness. — Dr.  Gregory. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  CHATTERTON'S 
LETTERS. 


London,  April  26,  1770. 

Dear  Mother, — Here  I am,  safe,  and  in  high 
Bpirits. — To  give  you  a journal  of  my  tour  would  not 
be  unnecessary.  After  riding  in  the  basket  to  Bris- 
lington,  I mounted  the  top  of  the  coach,  and  rid  easy ; 
and  was  agreeably  entertained  with  the  conversation 
of  a quaker  in  dress,  but  little  so  in  personals  and 
behaviour.  This  laughing  Friend,  who  is  a carver, 
lamented  his  helving  sent  his  tools  to  Worcester,  as 
otherwise  he  would  have  accompanied  me  to  London. 
I left  him  at  Bath  ; when,  finding  it  rained  pretty  fast, 
I entered  an  inside  passenger  to  Speenhamland,  the 
half-way  stage,  paying  seven  shillings.  ’Twas  lucky  I 
did  so,  for  it  snowed  all  night,  and  on  Marlborough 
Downs  the  snow  was  near  a foot  high. 

At  seven  in  the  morning  I breakfasted  at  Speen- 
hamland, and  then  mounted  the  coach-box  for  the 
remainder  of  the  day,  which  was  a remarkable  fine 
one. — Honest  gee-hoo  complimented  me  with  assuring 
me,  that  I sat  bolder  and  tighter  than  any  person  who 
ever  rid  with  him. — Dined  at  Stroud  most  luxuriantly, 
with  a young  gentleman  who  had  slept  all  the  preced- 
ing night  in  the  machine ; and  an  old  mercantile  ge- 
ne’s, whose  schoolboy  son  had.  a great  deal  of  wit,  as 


320 


SELECTIONS  FROM 


the  father  thought,  in  remarking  that  Windsor  was  as 
old  as  our  Saviour’s  time. 

Got  into  London  about  five  o’clock  in  the  evening — 
called  upon  Mr.  Edmunds,  Mr.  Fell,  Mr.  Hamilton, 
and  Mr.  Dodsley.  Great  encouragement  from  them  ; 
all  approved  of  my  design ; — shall  soon  be  settled. — 
Call  upon  Mr.  Lambert ; show  him  this,  or  tell  him,  if 
I deserve  a recommendation,  he  would  oblige  me  to 
give  me  one — if  I do  not,  it  will  be  beneath  him  to 
take  notice  of  me.  Seen  all  aunts,  cousins — all  well 
— and  I am  welcome.  Mr.  T.  Wensley  is  alive,  and 
coming  home. — Sister,  grandmother,  &c.  &c.  &c.  re- 
member. I remain,  your  dutiful  Son, 

T.  Chatterton. 


Shoreditch,  London,  May  6,  1770. 

Dear  Mother, — I am  surprised  that  no  letter 
has  been  sent  in  answer  to  my  last.  I am  settled,  and 
in  such  a settlement  as  I would  desire.  I get  four 
guineas  a month  by  one  Magazine:  shall  engage  to 
write  a History  of  England,  and  other  pieces,  which 
will  more  than  double  that  sum.  Occasional  essays 
for  the  daily  papers  would  more  than  support  me. 
What  a glorious  prospect ! Mr.  Wilkes  knew  me  by 
my  writings  since  I first  corresponded  with  the  book- 
sellers here.  I shall  visit  him  next  week,  and  by  his 
interest  will  insure  Mrs.  Ballance  the  Trinity-House. 
He  affirmed  that  what  Mr.  F ell  had  of  mine  could  not 
be  the  writings  of  a youth  ; and  expressed  a desire  to 
know  the  author.  By  the  means  of  another  book- 
beller  I shall  be  introduced  to  Townshend  and  Saw- 
bridge.  I am  quite  familiar  at  the  Chapter  Cofi^ee- 
house,  and  know  all  the  geniuses  there.  A character 


chatterton’s  letters. 


321 


IS  now  unnecessary ; an  author  carries  his  character 
in  his  pen.  My  sister  will  improve  herself  in  drawing. 
My  grandmother  is,  I hope,  well.  Bristol's  mercenary 
walls  were  never  destined  to  hold  me — there,  I was 
out  of  my  element ; now,  I am  in  it — London  ! Good 
God  ! how  superior  is  London  to  that  despicable  place 
Bristol ! Here  is  none  of  your  little  meannesses,  none 
of  your  mercenary  securities,  which  disgrace  that  mis- 
erable hamlet. — Dress,  which  is  in  Bristol  an  eternal 
fund  of  scandal,  is  here  only  introduced  as  a subject 
of  taste  ; if  a man  dresses  well,  he  has  taste  ; if  care- 
less, he  has  his  own  reasons  for  so  doing,  and  is  pru- 
dent. Need  I remind  you  of  the  contrast  ? The  pov- 
erty of  authors  is  a common  observation,  but  not 
always  a true  one.  No  author  can  be  poor  who  un- 
derstands the  arts  of  booksellers.  Without  this  neces- 
sary knowledge,  the  greatest  genius  may  starve ; and 
with  it,  the  greatest  dunce  live  in  splendour.  This 
knowledge  I have  pretty  well  dipped  into. — The 
Levant,  man-of-war,  in  wliich  T.  Wensley  went  out, 
is  at  Portsmouth  ; but  no  news  from  him  yet. — 1 lodge 
in  one  of  Mr.  Walmsley's  best  rooms.  Let  l\Ir.  Cai'y 
copy  the  letters  on  the  other  side,  and  give  them  to 
the  persbns  for  whom  they  are  designed,  if  not  too 
much  labour  for  him. 

I remain,  your’s,  &c.,  T.  Chattertox. 

P.  S.  I have  some  trilling  presents  for  my  mother, 
sister,  Thorne,  &c. 

FOR  MR.  T.  CARY. 

I have  sent  you  a task.  I hope  no  unpleasing  one.  Tell 
all  your  acquaintance  for  the  future  to  read  the  Freeholder’s 
Magazine.  When  you  have  any  thing  for  publication,  send 
it  to  me,  and  it  shall  most  certainly  appear  in  some  periodical 
compilation.  Your  last  piece  was,  by  the  ignorance  ol  o 

VOL.  I.  21 


322 


SELECTIONS  FROM 


porrector,  jumbled  under  the  considerations  in  the  acknowl- 
edgements. But  I rescued  it,  and  insisted  on  its  appearance. 

Your  friend,  T.  C. 

Direct  me,  to  be  left  at  Chapter  Coffee-house,  Paternoster-row. 

MR.  HENRY  KATOR. 

If  you  have  not  forgot  Lady  Betty,  any  Complaint,  Rebus, 
or  Enigma,  on  the  dear  charmer,  directed  for  me,  to  be  left 
at  the  Chapter  Coffee-house,  Paternoster-row,  shall  find  a 
place  in  some  Magazine  or  other ; as  I am  engaged  in  many. 

Your  friend,  T.  Chatterton. 

MR.  WILLIAM  SMITH. 

When  you  have  any  poetry  for  publication,  send  it  to  me, 
to  be  left  at  the  Chapter  Coffee-house,  Paternoster-row,  and 
it  shall  most  certainly  appear.  Your  friend,  T.  C. 

MRS.  BAKER. 

The  sooner  I see  you  the  better — send  me  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible Rymsdyk’s  address.  (Mr.  Cary  will  leave  this  at  Mr. 
Flower’s,  Small-street.) 

MR.  MASON. 

Give  me  a short  prose  description  of  the  situation  of  Nash 
— and  the  poetic  addition  shall  appear  in  some  Magazine. 
Send  me  also  whatever  you  would  have  published,  and  direct 
for  me,  to  be  left  at  the  Chapter  Coffee-house,  Paternoster- 
row.  Your  friend,  T.  Chatterton. 

MR.  MAT.  MEASE. 

Begging  Mr.  Mease’s  pardon  for  making  public  use  of  his 
Lame  lately — I hope  he  will  remember  me,  and  tell  all  his 
acquaintance  to  read  the  Freeholder’s  Magazine  for  the 
future.  T.  Chatterton. 

Tell  Mr.  Thaire,  Mr.  Gaster,  Mr.  A.  Broughton,  Mr.  J. 
5roughton,  Mr.  Williams,  Mr.  Rudhall,  Mr.  Thomas,  Mr. 
Carty,  Mr.  Hanmer,  Mr.  Vaughan,  Mr.  Ward,  Mr.  Kalo,  Mr. 
Smith,  &c.,  &c. — to  read  the  Freeholder’s  Magazine. 


chatterton’s  letters. 


323 


King’s  Bench,  for  the  present,  May  14,  1770. 

Dear  Madam, — Don’t  be  surprised  at  the  name 
ol‘  the  place.  I am  not  here  as  a prisoner.  Matters 
goon  s^vimmingly;  JVir.  Fell  having  offended  certain 
persons,  they  have  set  his  creditors  upon  him,  and  he 
is  safe  in  the  King’s  Bench.  I have  been  bettered  by 
this  accident ; his  successors  in  the  F reeholder’s  Mag- 
azine knowing  nothing  of  the  matter,  will  be  glad  to 
engage  me,  on  my  own  terms.  Mr.  Edmunds  has 
been  tried  before  the  House  of  Lords,  sentenced  to 
pay  a fine  and  thrown  into  Newgate.  His  misfortunes 
will  be  to  me  of  no  little  service.  Last  week,  being 
in  the  pit  of  Drury-lane  Theatre,  I contracted  an  im- 
mediate acquaintance  (which  you  know  is  no  hard 
task  to  me)  with  a young  gentleman  in  Cheapside ; 
partner  in  a music  shop,  the  greatest  in  the  city. 
Hearing  I could  write,  he  desired  me  to  write  a few 
songs  for  him ; this  I did  the  same  night,  and  conveyed 
them  to  him  the  next  morning.  These  he  showed  to  a 
Doctor  in  Music,  and  I am  invited  to  treat  with  this 
Doctor,  on  the  footing  of  a composer,  for  Ranelagh 
and  the  Gardens.  Bravo^  hey  hoys,  up  we  go  ! Be- 
sides the  advantage  of  visiting  these  expensive  and 
polite  places  gratis,  my  vanity  will  be  fed  with  the 
sight  of  my  name  in  copperplate,  and  my  sister  will 
receive  a bundle  of  printed  songs,  the  words  by  her 
brother.  These  are  not  all  my  acquisitions ; a gentle- 
man who  knows  me  at  the  Chapter,  as  an  author, 
would  have  introduced  me  as  a companion  to  the 
young  Duke  of  Northumberland,  in  his  intended  gen- 
eral tour.  But,  alas  ! I spake  no  tongue  but  my  own ! 
But  to  return  once  more  to  a place  I am  sickened  to 
write  of,  Bristol.  Though,  as  an  apprentice,  none  had 
{greater  liberties,  yet  the  thoughts  of  servitude  killed 


824 


SELECTIONS  FROM 


me  ; now  J have  that  for  my  labour  I always  reckoned 
the  first  of  my  pleasures,  and  have  still  my  libeity. 
As  to  the  clearance,  I am  ever  ready  to  give  it;  but 
really  I understand  so  little  of  the  law,  that  I believe 
Mr.  Lambert  must  draw  it.  Mrs.  L.  brought  what  you 
mentioned.  Mrs.  Hughes  is  as  well  as  age  wiU  permit 
her  to  be,  and  my  cousin  does  very  well. 

I will  get  some  patterns  worth  your  acceptance,  and 
wish  you  and  my  sister  would  improve  yourselves  in 
drawing,  as  it  is  here  a valuable  and  never-failing  ac- 
quisition.— My  box  shall  be  attended  to ; I hope  my 
books  are  in  it — if  not,  send  them ; and  particularly 
Catcott’s  Hutchinsonian  jargon  on  the  Deluge,  and 
the  MS.  Glossary,  composed  of  one  small  book,  an- 
nexed to  a larger. — My  sister  will  remember  me  to 
!Miss  Sandford.  I have  not  quite  forgot  her ; though 
there  are  so  many  pretty  milliners,  &c.,  that  I have 
almost  forgot  myself. — Cary  will  think  on  me : upon 
inquiry,  I find  his  trade  dwindled  into  nothing  here. 
A man  may  very  nobly  starve  by  it;  but  he  must  have 
luck  indeed,  who  can  live  by  it. — Miss  Rumsey,  if  she 
comes  to  London,  would  do  well,  as  an  old  acquaint- 
ance, to  send  me  her  address. — London  is  not  Bristol. 
— We  may  patrol  the  town  for  a day,  without  raising 
one  whisper,  or  nod  of  scandal. — II*  she  refuses,  the 
curse  of  all  antiquated  virgins  light  on  her ; may  she 
be  refused  when  she  shall  request ! Miss  Rumsey  will 
tell  Miss  Baker,  and  Miss  Baker  will  tell  Mss  Porter, 
that  Miss  Porter’s  favoured  humble  servant,  though 
but  a youiHj  man,  is  a very  old  lover ; and  in  the  eight- 
Aiid-fiftieth  year  of  his  age ; but  that,  as  Lappet  says, 
is  the  flower  of  a man’s  days ; and  when  a lady  can’t 
iret  a young  husband,  she  must  put  up  with  an  old  bed- 
fellow. I left  Mss  Singer,  I am  sorry  to  say  it,  in  a 


chatterton’s  letters. 


325 


very  bad  way ; that  is,  in  a way  to  be  married.  But, 
mum — Ask  Miss  Sukey  Webb  the  rest ; if  she  knows, 
she’ll  tell  ye.  I beg  her  pardon  for  revealing  the  se- 
cret ; but  when  the  knot  is  fastened,  she  shall  know 
how  I came  by  it. — Miss  Thatcher  may  depend  upon 
it,  that,  if  I am  not  in  love  with  her,  I am  in  love  with 
nobody  else ; I hope  she  is  well ; and  if  that  whining, 
sighing,  dying  pulpit-fop,  Lewis,  has  not  finished  his 
languishing  lectures,  I hope  she  will  see  her  amoroso 
next  Sunday. — If  Miss  Love  has  no  objection  to  hav- 
ing a crambo  song  on  her  name  published,  it  shall  be 
done. — Begging  pardon  of  Miss  Cotton  for  whatever 
has  happened  to  offend  her,  I can  assure  her  it  has 
happened  without  my  consent.  I did  not  give  her  this 
assurance  when  in  Bristol,  lest  it  should  seem  like  an 
attempt  to  avoid  the  anger  of  her  furious  brother. 
Inquire,  when  you  can,  how  Miss  Broughton  received 
her  billet.  Let  my  sister  send  me  a journal  of  all  the 
transactions  of  the  females  within  the  circle  of  your 
acquaintance.  Let  Miss  AVatkins  know,  that  the  letter 
she  made  herself  ridiculous  by,  was  never  intended  for 
her ; but  for  another  young  lady  in  the  neighbourhood, 
of  the  same  name.  I promised,  before  my  departure, 
to  write  to  some  hundreds,  I believe ; but,  what  with 
writing  for  publications,  and  going  to  places  of  public 
diversion,  which  is  as  absolutely  necessary  to  me  as 
food,  I find  but  little  time  to  write  to  you.  As  to  Mr. 
Barrett,  Mr.  Catcott,  Mr.  Burgum,  &c.,  &c.,  they  rate 
literary  lumber  so  low,  that  I believe  an  author,  in 
their  estimation,  must  be  poor  indeed ! But  hei’e, 
matters  are  otherwise  ; had  Rowley  been  a Londoner, 
instead  of  a Bristowyan,  I could  have  lived  by  copy- 
ing his  works. — In  my  huniMe  opinion,  I am  under 
very  few  obligations  to  any  person  in  Bnstol : one.  inr 


B26 


SELECTIONS  FROM 


(Iced,  lias  obliged  me ; but  as  most  do,  in  a manner 
which  makes  his  obligation  no  obligation. — My  youth- 
ul  ac<|uaintances  will  not  take  it  in  dudgeon,  that  I do 
not  write  oftener  to  them,  than  I believe  I shall ; but^ 
as  I had  the  happy  art  of  pleasing  in  conversation,  my 
company  was  often  liked,  where  I did  not  like ; and  to 
continue  a correspondence  under  such  circumstances, 
would  be  ridiculous.  Let  my  sister  improve  in  copy- 
ing music,  drawing,  and  every  thing  which  requires 
genius ; in  Bristol’s  mercantile  style  those  things  may 
be  useless,  if  not  a detriment  to  her ; but  here  they  are 
highly  profitable. — Inform  Mr.  Rhise  that  nothing 
shall  be  wanting,  on  my  paj-t,  in  the  business  he  was 
so  kind  as  to  employ  me  in  ; should  be  glad  of  a line 
from  him,  to  know  whether  he  would  engage  in  the 
marine  department ; or  spend  the  rest  of  his  days,  safe, 
on  dry  ground. — Intended  waiting  on  the  Duke  of 
Bedford  relative  to  the  Trinity-House ; but  his  Grace 
is  dangerously  ill. — My  grandmother,  I hope,  enjoys 
the  state  of  health  I left  her  in — I am  Miss  Webb’s 
humble  servant. — Thorne  shall  not  be  forgot  when  I 
remit  the  small  trifles  to  you.  Notwithstanding  Mi*s. 
B.’s  not  being  able  to  inform  me  of  Mr.  Garsed’s  ad- 
dress, through  the  closeness  of  the  pious  Mr.  Ewer,  I 
luckily  stumbled  upon  it  this  morning. 

Monday  evening.  Thomas  Chatterton. 

(Direct  for  me,  at  Mr.  Walmsley’s,  at  Shoreditch — 

only.) 


oiiatterton’s  letters. 


327 


TO  MR.  T.  CARY. 

London, , 1770. 

“ Dear  Arran ! now  prepare  the  smile, 

Be  friendly,  read,  and  laugh  awhile.” 

^ ^ ^ * 

But  by  the  Lord  I have  business  of  more  importance 
/han  poetry. — As  I wanted  matter  for  a sheet  in  the 
‘ Town  and  Country  Magazine,’  you  will  see  this  in 
print  metamorphosed  into  high  life. 

You  accuse  me  of  partiality  in  my  panegyric  on 
Mr.  Allen.  Pardon  me,  my  dear  friend,  but  I believe 
there  are  very  few  in  Bristol  who  know  what  music  is. 
Broderip  has  no  taste,  at  least  no  real  taste.  Step 
into  Bedcliff  Church,  look  at  the  noble  arches,  observe 
the  symmetry,  the  regularity  of  the  whole ; how  amaz- 
ing must  that  idea  be  which  can  comprehend  at  once 
all  that  magnificence  of  architecture ; do  not  examine 
one  particular  beauty  or  dwell  upon  it  minutely,  take 
the  astonishing  whole  into  your  empty  pericranium, 
and  then  think  what  the  architect  of  that  pile  was  in 
building,  Allen  is  in  music.  Step  aside  a little  and 
t7irn  your  attention  to  the  ornaments  of  a pillar  of  the 
chapel;  you  see  minute  carvings  of  minute  designs, 
whose  chief  beauties  are  deformity  or  intricacy.  Ex- 
amine all  the  laborious  sculpture ; is  there  any  part 
of  it  worth  the  trouble  it  must  have  cost  the  artist,  yet 
how  eagerly  do  children  and  fools  gaze  upon  these  lit- 
tlenesses. If  it  is  not  too  much  trouble,  take  a walk 
to  the  College  gate,  view  the  labyrinths  of  knots  which 
twist  round  that  mutilated  piece,  trace  the  windings 
of  one  of  the  pillars,  and  tell  me  if  you  don’t  think 
a great  genius  lost  in  these  minutiae  of  ornaments. 
Broderip  is  a complete  copy  of  these  ornamental 
carvers ; his  genius  runs  parallel  with  theii^,  and  his 


i28 


SELECTIONS  FROM 


music  is  always  disgraced  with  littlenesses,  flowers,  and 
flourishes.  What  a clash  of  harmony  Allen  dashes 
upon  the  soul.  How  prettily  Broderip  tickles  their 
fancy  by  winding  the  same  dull  tune  over  again.  How 
astonishingly  great  is  Allen  when  playing  an  overture 
from  Handel.  How  absurdly  ridiculous  is  Broderip 
when  blundering  in,  and  new  modelling  the  notes  of 
that  great  genius ; how  emptily  amusing  when  tor- 
turing and  twisting  airs  which  he  has  stolen  from  Italian 
operas.  I am  afraid,  my  dear  friend,  you  do  not  un- 
derstand the  merit  of  a full  piece ; if  you  did,  you 
would  confess  to  me  that  Allen  is  the  only  organist 
you  have  in  Bristol — but  of  this  enough.  If  you  have 
not  music  enough  to  enter  into  a dispute  with  me  on 
the  merits  of  Mr.  Allen,  engage  one  who  has,  to  throw 
down  the  gauntlet,  and  I shall  be  ever  ready  to  take 
it  up. 

A song  of  mine  is  a great  favourite  with  the  town, 
on  account  of  the  fulness  of  the  music.  It  has  much 
of  Mr.  Allen’s  manner  in  the  air.  You  will  see  that 
and  twenty  more  in  print  after  the  season  is  over.  I 
yesterday  heard  several  airs  of  my  burletta  sung  to  a 
harpsichord,  horns,  flutes,  bassoons,  hautboys,  violins, 
&c.,  and  will  venture  to  pronounce,  from  the  excel- 
lence of  the  music,  that  it  will  take  with  the  town. 
Observe,  I write  in  all  the  magazines.  I am  surprised 
you  took  no  notice  of  the  last  London ; in  that,  and 
the  magazine  coming  out  to-morrow,  are  the  only  two 
pieces  I have  the  vanity  to  call  poetry.  Mind  the 
Political  Register,  I am  very  intimately  acquainted 
with  the  editor,  who  is  also  editor  of  another  publi- 
-^ation.  You  will  find  not  a little  of  mine  in  the  ‘ Lon- 
don Museum,’  and  ‘ Town  and  Country.’ 

The  printers  of  the  daily  publications  are  all  frigh^ 


ciiatteuton’s  letters. 


329 


5ned  out  of  their  patriotism,  and  will  take  nothing 
unless  ’tis  moderate  or  ministerial.  I have  not  had 
Sve  patriotic  essays  this  fortnight,  all  must  be  minis- 
terial or  entertaining. 

I remain,  yours,  &c.,  T.  Chatterton. 


Tom’s  Coffee-House,  May  30,  1770. 

Dear  Sister, — There  is  such  a noise  of  business 
and  politics  in  the  room,  that  my  inaccuracy  in  writ- 
ing here  is  highly  excusable.  My  present  profession 
obliges  me  to  frequent  places  of  the  best  resort.  To 
begin  with,  what  every  female  conversation  begins 
with,  dress ; I employ  my  money  now  in  fitting  my- 
self fashionably,  and  getting  into  good  company ; this 
last  article  always  brings  me  in  interest.  But  I have 
engaged  to  live  with  a gentleman,  the  brother  of  a 
Lord,  (a  Scotch  one  indeed,)  who  is  going  to  advance 
pretty  deeply  into  the  bookselling  branches ; I shall 
have  lodging  and  boarding,  genteel  and  elegant,  gratis ; 
this  article,  in  the  quarter  of  the  town  he  lives,  with 
worse  accommodations,  would  be  £50  per  annum.  I 
shall  have,  likewise,  no  inconsiderable  premium ; and 
assure  yourself  every  month  shall  end  to  your  ad- 
vantage ; I will  send  you  two  silks  this  summer ; and 
expect,  in  answer  to  this,  what  colours  you  prefer. 
My  mother  shall  not  be  forgotten.  My  employment 
will  be  writing  a voluminous  History  of  London,  to 
appear  in  numbers  the  beginning  of  the  next  winter. 
As  this  will  not,  like  writing  political  essays,  oblige  me 
to  go  to  the  coffee-house,  I shall  be  able  to  serve  you 
ihe  more  by  It ; but  it  will  necessitate  me  to  go  to 
Oxford,  Cambridge,  Lincoln,  Coventry,  and  every 
collegiate  church  near ; not  at  all  disagreeable  jour- 
neys, and  not  to  me  expensive.  The  Manuscrip' 


330 


SELECTIONS  FROM 


• 

Glossary,  1 mentioned  in  my  last,  must  not  be  omitted 
If  money  flowed  as  fast  upon  me  as  honours,  I would 
give  you  a portion  of  £5,000.  You  have,  doubtless, 
heard  of  the  Lord  Mayor^s  remonstrating  and  address- 
ing the  King ; but  it  will  be  a piece  of  news  to  inform 
you,  that  I have  been  with  the  Lord  Mayor  on  the 
occasion.  Having  addressed  an  essay  to  his  Lordship,  it 
was  very  well  received ; perhaps  better  than  it  deserved ; 
and  I waited  on  his  Lordship,  to  have  his  approbation, 
to  address  a second  letter  to  him,  on  the  subject  of  the 
remonstrance,  and  its  reception.  His  Lordship  re- 
ceived me  as  politely  as  a citizen  could ; and  warmly 
invited  me  to  call  on  him  again.  The  rest  is  a secret. 
— But  the  devil  of  the  matter  is,  there  is  no  money  to 
be  got  on  this  side  of  the  question.  Interest  is  on  the 
other  side.  But  he  is  a poor  author,  who  cannot  write 
on  both  sides.  I believe  I may  be  introduced  (and  if 
I am  not.  I’ll  introduce  myself)  to  a ruling  power  in 
the  Court  party.  I might  have  a recommendation  to 
Sir  George  Colebrook,  an  East  India  Director,  as 
qualified  for  an  office  no  ways  despicable  ; but  I shall 
not  take  a step  to  the  sea,  whilst  I can  continue  on 
land.  I went  yesterday  to  Woolwich  to  see  Mr.  Wens- 
ley ; he  is  paid  to-day.  The  artillery  is  no  unpleasant 
sight,  if  we  bar  reflection,  and  do  not  consider  how 
much  mischief  it  may  do.  Greenwich  Hospital  and  St. 
Paul’s  Cathedral  are  the  only  structures  which  could 
reconcile  me  to  anything  out  of  the  Gothic.  Mr.  Carty 
will  hear  from  me  soon ; multiplicity  of  literary  business 
must  be  my  excuse. — I condole  with  him,  and  my  dear 
Miss  Sandfbrd,  in  the  misfortunes  of  Mrs.  Carty ; my 
physical  advice  is,  to  leech  her  temples  plentifully  ; 
keep  her  very  low  in  diet ; as  much  in  the  dark  as 
possible.  Nor  is  this  last  prescription  the  advice  of 


ciiatterton’s  letters.  3r>l 

an  old  woman ; whatever  hurts  the  eyes,  affects  'the 
brain ; and  the  particles  of  light,  when  the  sun  is  in 
the  summer  signs,  are  highly  prejudicial  to  the  eyes 
and  it  is  from  this  sympathetic  effect,  that  the  headache 
is  general  in  summer.  But,  above  all,  talk  to  her  but 
little,  and  never  contradict  her  in  any  thing.  This 
may  be  of  service.  I hope  it  will.  Did  a paragraph 
appear  in  your  paper  of  Saturday  last,  mentioning  the 
inhabitants  of  London’s  having  opened  another  view 
of  St.  Paul’s ; and  advising  the  corporation,  or  vestry 
of  Bedclift,  to  procure  a more  complete  view  of  Bed- 
clift  church  ? My  compliments  to  Miss  Thatcher ; if 
I am  in  love  I am  ; though  the  devil  take  me  if  I can 
tell  with  whom  it  is.  I believe  I may  address  her  in 
the  words  of  Scripture,  which  no  doubt  she  reveres ; 
‘ If  you  had  not  ploughed  with  my  heifer,’  (or  bullock 
rather,)  ‘ you  had  not  found  out  my  riddle.’  Humbly 
thanking  Miss  Rumsey  for  her  complimentary  expres- 
sion, I cannot  think  it  satisfactory.  Does  she,  or  does 
she  not,  intend  coming  to  London  ? Mrs.  O’ Coffin 
has  not  yet  got  a place ; but  there  is  not  the  least 
doubt  but  she  will  in  a little  time. 

Essay  writing  has  this  advantage,  you  are  sure  of 
constant  pay  ; and  when  you  have  once  wrote  a piece 
which  makes  the  author  inquired  after,  you  may  bring 
the  booksellers  to  your  own  terms.  Essays  on  the 
patriotic  side  fetch  no  more  than  what  the  copy  is  sold 
for.  As  the  patriots  themselves  are  searching  for  a 
place,  they  have  no  gratuities  to  spare.  So  says  one 
of  the  beggars,  in  a temporary  alteration  of  mine,  in 
the  Jovial  Crew : 

A patriot  was  my  occupation, 

It  got  me  a name  but  no  pelf : 


332 


SELECTIONS  FROM 


Till,  starv’d  for  the  good  of  the  nation, 

I begg’d  for  the  good  of  myself. 

Fal,  lal,  &0. 

I told  them,  if  ’twas  not  for  me. 

Their  freedoms  would  all  go  to  pot; 

I promis’d  to  set  them  all  free, 

But  never  a farthing  I got. 

Fal,  lal,  &c. 

On  the  other  hand,  unpopular  essays  will  not  even 
be  accepted  ; and  you  must  pay  to  have  them  printed ; 
but  then  you  seldom  lose  by  it.  Courtiers  are  so  sen- 
sible of  their  deficiency  in  merit,  that  they  generally 
reward  all  who  know  how  to  daub  them  with  the  ap- 
pearance of  it.  To  return  to  private  affairs. — Friend 
Slude  may  depend  upon  my  endeavouring  to  find  the 
publications  you  mention.  They  publish  the  Gospel 
Magazine  here.  For  a whim  I write  in  it.  I believe 
there  are  not  any  sent  to  Bristol ; they  are  hardly 
worth  the  carriage — methodistical,  and  unmeaning. 
With  the  usual  ceremonies  to  my  mother  and  grand- 
mother ; and  sincerely,  without  ceremony,  wishing 
them  both  happy ; when  it  is  in  my  power  to  make 
them  so,  it  shall  be  so ; and  with  my  kind  remem- 
brance to  Miss  Webb  and  Miss  Thorne,  I remain,  as 
I ever  was. 

Yours,  &c.,  to  the  end  of  the  chapter, 

Thomas  Chatterton. 

P.  S.  I am  this  moment  pierced  through  the  heart 
by  the  black  eye  of  a young  lady,  driving  along  in  a 
hackney  coach. — I am  quite  in  love  ; if  my  love  lasts 
till  that  time,  you  shall  hear  of  it  in  my  next. 


June  19,  1770. 

Dear  Sister, — I have  an  horrid  cold. — The  rela 


chatterton’s  letters. 


0^3 

tioii  of  the  manner  of  my  catching  it  may  give  you 
more  pleasure  than  the  circumstance  itself.  As  1 
wrote  very  late  Sunday  night  (or  rather  very  early 
Monday  morning,)  I thought  to  have  gone  to  bed 
pretty  soon  last  night ; when,  being  half  undressed,  I 
heard  a very  doleful  voice,  singing  Miss  HilFs  favorite 
bedlamite  song.  The  hum  drum  of  the  voice  so  struck 
me,  that  though  I was  obliged  to  listen  a long  while 
before  I could  hear  the  words,  I found  the  similitude 
in  the  sound.  After  hearing  her  with  pleasure  drawl 
for  above  half  an  hour,  she  jumped  into  a brisker 
tune,  and  hobbled  out  the  ever  famous  song,  in  which 
poor  Jack  Fowler  was  to  have  been  satirized. — “ I put 
my  hand  into  a bush  ; I prick’d  my  finger  to  the  bone ; 
I saw  a ship  sailing  along ; I thought  the  sweetest  flow- 
ers to  find ; ” and  other  pretty  flowery  expressions,  were 
twanged  with  no  inharmonious  bray.  I now  ran  to 
the  window,  and  threw  up  the  sash,  resolved  to  be 
satisfied,  whether  or  not  it  was  the  identical  Miss  Hill, 
in  propria  persona.  , But,  alas ! it  was  a person  whose 
twang  is  very  well  known,  when  she  is  awake,  but 
who  had  drank  so  much  royal  bob  (the  gingerbread 
baker  for  that,  you  know,)  that  she  was  now  singing 
herself  asleep.  This  somnifying  liquor  had  made  her 
voice  so  like  the  sweet  echo  of  Miss  Hill’s,  that  if  I 
had  not  considered  that  she  could  not  see  her  way  up 
to  London,  I should  absolutely  have  imagined  it  her’s. 
— There  was  a fellow  and  a girl  in  one  corner,  more 
busy  in  attending  to  their  own  affairs,  than  the  melody. 

[ This  part  of  the  letter^  for  some  lines j is  not  iegiblc.~\ 

» * * * the  morning)  from  Marylebone  gardens ; 
I saw  the  fellow  in  the  cage  at  the  watch-house,  in  the 
parish  of  St.  Giles ; and  the  nymph  is  an  inhabitant 
^f  one  of  Cupid’s  inns  of  Court.  There  was  one  simil- 


334 


SELECTIONS  FKOM 


itude  it  would  be  injustice  to  let  slip.  A drunken 
fisbman,  who  sells  souse  mackerel,  and  other  de- 
licious dainties,  to  the  eternal  detriment  of  aU  two- 
penny ordinaries ; as  his  best  commodity,  his  salmon, 
goes  off  at  three  half-pence  the  piece ; this  itinerant 
merchant,  this  movable  fish-stall,  having  likewise  had 
his  dose  of  bob-royal,  stood  still  for  a while,  and  then 
joined  chorus,  in  a tone  which  would  have  laid  half-a- 
dozen  lawyers,  pleading  for  their  fees,  fast  asleep ; this 
naturally  reminded  me  of  Mr.  Haythorne’s  song  of 
‘ Says  Plato,  who  oy  oy  oy  should  men  be  vain  V ’ 

However,  my  entertainment,  though  sweet  enough 
in  itself,  has  a dish  of  sour  sauce  served  up  in  it ; for 
I have  a most  horrible  wheezing  in  the  throat ; but  I 
don’t  repent  that  I have  this  cold ; for  there  are  so 
many  nostrums  here,  that  ’tis  worth  a man’s  while  to 
get  a distemper,  he  can  be  cured  so  cheap. 

June  29,  1770. 

My  cold  is  over  and  gone.  If  the  above  did  not 
recall  to  your  mind  some  scenes  of  laughter,  you  have 
lost  your  ideas  of  risibility. 

Dear  Mother, — I send  you  in  the  box,  six  cups 
and  saucers  with  two  basins  for  my  sister.  If  a china 
teapot  and  creampot,  is  in  your  opinion,  necessary,  I 
will  send  them ; but  I am  informed  they  are  unfash- 
ionable, and  that  the  red  china,  which  you  are  pro- 
vided with,  is  more  in  use.  A cargo  of  patterns  for 
yourself,  with  a snuffbox,  right  French,  and  very 
curious  in  my  opinion. 

Two  fans — the  silver  one  is  more  grave  than  the 
other,  which  would  suit  my  sister  best.  But  that  I 
leave  to  you  both. — Some  British  herb  snuft*,  in  the 
box ; be  careful  how  you  open  it.  (This  I omit  lest 


chatterton’s  letters. 


335 


it  injure  the  other  matters.) — Some  British  herb  to- 
bacco for  my  grandmother ; some  trifles  for  Thorne. 
Be  assured  whenever  I have  the  power,  my  will  won’t 
be  wanting  to  testify  that  I remember  you. 

Your’s,  T.  Chatterton. 


July  8,  1770. 

N.  B. — I shall  forestall  your  intended  journey,  and 
pop  down  upon  you  at  Christmas. 

I could  have  wished  you  had  sent  my  red  pocket- 
book,  as  ’tis  very  material. 

I bought  two  very  curious  twisted  pipes  for  my 
grandmother ; but  both  breaking,  I was  afraid  to  buy 
others,  lest  they  should  break  in  the  box ; and  being 
loose,  injure  the  china.  Have  you  heard  any  thing 
further  of  the  clearance  ? 

Direct  for  me  at  Mrs.  Angel’s,  sackmaker,  Brook- 
Btr(‘.et,  Holborn. 

Mrs.  Chatterton. 


Dear  Sister, — have  sent  you  some  china  and  a 
fan.  You  have  your  choice  of  two.  I am  surprised 
that  you  chose  purple  and  gold.  I went  into  the  shop 
to  buy  it;  but  it  is  the  most  disagreeable  colour  I 
ever  saw — dead,  lifeless,  and  inelegant.  Purple  and 
pink,  or  lemon  and  pink,  are  more  genteel  and  lively. 
Your  answer  in  this  affair  will  oblige  me.  Be  assured, 
that  I shall  ever  make  your  wants  my  wants ; and 
stretch  to  the  utmost  to  serve  you.  Remember  me  to 
cdiss  Sandford,  Miss  Rumsey,  Miss  Singer,  &c. 

As  ^o  the  songs,  I have  waited  this  week  for  them, 
%nd  have  not  had  time  to  copy  one  perfectly ; when 


336 


SELECTIONS  FROM 


the  season^s  over,  you  will  have  ’em  all  in  print.  I had 
pieces  last  month  in  the  following  Magazines  : 

“ Gospel  Magazine, 

Town  and  Country,  viz : 

Maria  Friendless, 

False  Step, 

Hunter  of  Oddities, 

To  Miss  Bush,  &c. 

Court  and  City.  London.  Political  Register,  &c. 
The  Christian  Magazine,  as  they  are  not  to  be  had 
perfect,  are  not  worth  buying. — I remain,  your’s, 

July  11,  1770.  T.  Chatterton. 


I am  now  about  an  Oratorio,  which,  when  finished, 
will  purchase  you  a gown.  You  may  be  certain  of 
seeing  me  before  the  1st  January,  1771. — The  clear- 
ance is  immaterial. — My  mother  may  expect  more  pat- 
terns.— Almost  all  the  next  Town  and  Country  Mag- 
azine is  mine.  I have  an  universal  acquaintance  ; my 
company  is  courted  everywhere  ; and,  could  I humble 
myself  to  go  into  a comptor,  could  have  had  twenty 
places  before  now ; — ^but  I must  be  among  the  great ; 
state  matters  suit  me  better  than  commercial.  The 
ladies  are  not  out  of  my  acquaintance.  I have  a deal 
of  business  now,  and  must  therefore  bid  you  adieu. 
You  will  have  a longer  letter  from  me  soon — and 
more  to  the  purpose. 

20ih  July^  1770.  Your’s,  T.  C. 


TO  MR.  G.  CATCOTT. 

London,  August  12,  1770. 

Sir, — A correspondent  from  Bristol  had  raised  my 
^Imiration  to  the  highest  pitch  by  informing  me,  that 


chatterton’s  letters. 


337 


au  appearance  of  spirit  and  generosity  had  crept  into 
the  niches  of  avarice  and  meanness  ; — that  the  mur- 
derer of  Newton  (Ferguson)  had  met  with  every 
encouragement  that  ignorance  could  bestow  ; that  an 
episcopal  palace  was  to  be  erected  for  the  enemy  of 
the  Whore  of  Babylon,  and  the  present  turned  into  a 
stable  for  his  ten-headed  beast — that  a spire  was  to  be 
patched  to  St.  Mary  Redclifie,  and  the  streets  kept 
cleaner,  with  many  other  impossibilities ; but  when 
Mr.  Catcott  (the  Champion  of  Bristol)  doubts  it,  it  may 
be  doubted.  Your  description  of  the  intended  steeple 
struck  me.  T have  seen  it,  but  not  as  the  invention  of 

Mr. . All  that  he  can  boast  is  Gothicizing  it. 

Give  yourself  the  trouble  to  send  to  Weobley’s,  Hol- 
born,  for  a View  of  the  Church  of  St.  Mary  de  la 
Annunciation,  at  Madrid,  and  you  will  see  a spire 
almost  the  parallel  of  what  you  describe.  The  con- 
duct of is  no  more  than  what  I expected ; I had 

received  information  that  he  was  absolutely  engaged 
in  the  defence  of  the  Ministry,  and  had  a pamphlet  on 
the  stocks,  which  was  to  have  been  paid  with  a trans- 
lation. In  consequence  of  this  information  I inserted 
the  following  paragraph  in  one  of  my  exhibitions  : 

‘ Revelation  Unravelled  by  — . 

‘ The  Ministry  are  indefatigable  in  establishing  them* 
selves ; they  spare  no  expense,  so  long  as  the  expense 
does  not  lie  upon  them.  This  piece  represents  the 
tools  of  Administration  offering  the  Doctor  a pension, 
or  translation,  to  new  model  his  Treatise  on  the  Rev- 
elations, and  to  prove  Wilkes  to  be  an  Atheist.^ 

The  editor  of  Baddeley^s  Bath  Journal  has  done  me 
the  honour  to  murder  most  of  my  hieroglyphics,  that 
►hey  may  be  abbreviated  for  his  paper.  Whatever 

VOL.  I.  22 


338  SELECTIONS  FROM  CHA.TTERTON. 

may  be  tbe  political  sentiments  of  your  inferior  clergy, 
their  superiors  are  all  flamingly  Ministerial.  Should 
your  scheme  for  a single  row  of  houses  in  Bridge- 
street  take  place,  conscience  must  tell  you,  that  Bris- 
tol will  owe  even  that  beauty  to  avarice ; since  the 
absolute  impossibility  of  finding  tenants  for  a double 
row  is  the  only  occasion  of  your  having  but  one.  The 
Gothic  dome  I mentioned  was  not  designed  by  Ho- 
garth. I have  no  great  opinion  of  him  out  of  his 
ludicrous  walk — there  he  was  undoubtedly  inimitable. 
It  was  designed  by  the  great  Cipriani.  The  following 
description  may  give  you  a faint  idea  of  it.  From  an 
hexagonal  spiral  tower  (such  I believe  Bedcliffe  is) 
rose  a similar  palisado  of  Gothic  pillars,  three  in  a 
cluster  on  every  angle,  but  single  and  at  equal  dis- 
tance in  angular  spaces.  The  pillars  were  trifoliated 
(as  Rowlie  terms  it?)  and  supported  by  a majestic  oval 
dome,  not  absolutely  circular,  (that  would  not  be 
Gothic,)  but  terminating  in  a point,  surmounted  with  a 
cross,  and  on  the  top  of  the  cross  a globe.  The  two 
last  ornaments  may  perhaps  throw  you  into  a fit  of 
religious  reflection,  and  give  rise  to  many  pious  reflec- 
tions. Heaven  send  you  the  comforts  of  Christianity ! 
I request  them  not,  for  I am  no  Christian.  Angels 
are,  according  to  the  orthodox  doctrine,  creatures  of 
the  epicene  gender,  like  the  Temple  beaux  * * *. 

I intend  going  abroad  as  a surgeon,  Mr.  Barrett 
has  it  in  his  power  to  assist  me  greatly,  by  his  giving 
me  a physical  character.  I hope  he  will.  I troublo 
you  with  a copy  of  an  Essay  I intend  publishing. 

I remain,  your  much  obliged  humble  Servant, 
Thomas  Chatterton. 

Direct  to  me  at  Mrs.  Angel’s,  sackmaker,  Brook 
street,  Holborn. 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS 


OP 

THOMAS  OHATTEETOH. 


VOLUME  IL 


HISTORY 


OF  THE 

BOWLEY  CONTROVERSY. 


It  will  be  requisite,  before  we  commence  our 
account  of  the  Rowley  Controversy,  briefly  to  re- 
capitulate the  different  notices  relative  to  the  dis- 
covery of  the  manuscripts  which  have  appeared 
in  various  parts  of  our  memoir. 

The  Church  of  St.  Mary  of  Redcliffe^  was 
erected  in  the  year  1470,  by  William  Cannynge, 
an  opulent  merchant  of  Bristol.  An  iron  chest 
was  placed  in  a muniment  room  over  the  northern 
portico,  designed  to  receive  instruments,  invento- 
ries, and  the  parish  accounts.  It  was  ordered  by 
the  Founders  that  this  chest  should  be  annually 
inspected  by  the  Mayor  and  the  members  of  the 


1 The  lovers  of  old  English  architecture  will  experience  no 
ordinary  gratification,  on  learning  that  the  clusters  of  miser- 
able tenements,  with  the  dilapidated  premises  by  which  the 
northeast  portion  of  St.  Mary  Redd  iff  has  for  centuries  been 
excluded  from  public  view,  are  now  in  the  course  of  demo* 
ition. — Bristol  March  12,  1842. 


VI 


HISTORY  OF  THE 


Corporation  ; and  that  a feast  should  be  held,  aftei 
the  inspection  was  concluded.  This  order  was 
soon  disregarded. 

When  the  new  bridge  at  Bristol  was  finished, 
in  the  year  1768,  there  appeared  in  one  of  the 
Bristol  journals  an  account  of  the  ceremonial 
which  was  observed  when  the  old  bridge  was 
opened  to  the  public,  purporting  to  be  transcribed 
from  an  ancient  MS.  Curiosity  was  excited  ; an 
inquiry  was  instituted ; and  the  result  was  the  dis- 
covery that  the  letter  had  been  forwarded  by  a 
youth  of  the  name  of  Chatterton,  whose  father 
had  been  for  many  years  a sexton  in  the  Church 
of  St.  Mary  of  Bedcliffe,  and  master  of  a writing- 
school  in  that  parish.  The  father,  however,  was 
dead,  and  no  threats  or ‘persuasions  could,  at  first, 
induce  the  son  to  acknowledge  by  what  means  the 
original  memoir  had  come  into  his  possession. 
After  much  altercation,  he  asserted  that  he  had 
received  this  manuscript,  with  many  others,  from 
his  father,  who  found  them  in  the  iron  chest  which 
we  have  already  mentioned. 

It  is  said  that  Chatterton,  the  sexton,  was  per- 
mitted by  the  church'Wardens  to  take  from  the 
chest  several  pieces  of  parchment,  for  the  purpose 
of  covering  the  writing-books  of  his  scholars.  The 
value  of  these  despised  manuscripts  was  immense, 
and  the  parish  pedagogue,  who  had  some  preten- 
sions to  refinement  of  taste,  discovered  amongst 
5hem  a vast  number  of  poems,  of  which  the  greater 


ROWLEY  CONTROVERSY. 


Vll 


part  were  composed  by  Thomas  Rowlie,  priest  of 
St.  John’s  Church,  in  Bristol,  and  the  confessor 
of  Alderman  Cannynge.  These  were  laid  by  with 
care,  and  after  the  death  of  the  accomplished  sex- 
ton, became  the  property  of  his  son. 

The  son,  it  is  stated,  perceived  the  importance 
of  these  poems,  and  transcribed  them.  Some  of 
them  he  sold  to  Mr.  Catcott  and  Mr.  Barrett,  the 
former  a merchant,  the  latter  a surgeon,  of  Bristol. 
IVIost  of  these  were  transcripts  ; what  few  parch- 
ments there  were  have  since  been  deposited  in  the 
British  Museum.  Chatterton  was  often  questioned 
a.s  to  the  source  from  which  he  derived  the  origi- 
nals ; but  no  satisfactory  or  definite  answer  could 
be  elicited.  In  process  of  time  the  Rowley  poems 
were  given  to  the  world.  The  army  of  literary 
men  was  dazzled,  perplexed,  and  divided.  One 
phalanx  considered  them  to  be  a fabrication  of 
Chatterton ; another  was  positive  that  none  but 
Rowley  was  the  author  of  the  poems  which  bore 
his  name.  The  contention  grew  sharp — the  com- 
batants were  drawn  up  in  hostile  array — and  the 
Rowley  war  commenced  in  earnest. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  give  the  whole  of  the 
arguments  which  were  brought  forward  by  either 
party,  for  this  essay  would  then  be  enlarged  be- 
yond all  reasonable  dimensions.  It  will  be  suffi- 
eient  for  our  purpose  to  give  a list  of  the  principal 
champions  of  the  identity  of  Rowley,  and  his 
claims  to  the  authorship  of  the  poems  to  which 


HISTORY  OF  THE 


viii 

he  has  stood  godfather,  and  of  the  impugners  of 
that  identity  and  of  those  pretensions. 

First  and  foremost,  Horace  Walpole,^  the  author 
of  Otranto,  and  lord  of  Strawberry-Hill,  rushed 
into  the  fight.  He  struggled  manfully,  in  his 
“ Vindication,”  to  prove  that  the  Bristol  Boy, 
whom  he  had  insulted  and  whistled  down  the 
wind  a prey  to  fortune,  was  the  real  creator  of 
the  poetry  of  Rowley.  Horace  Walpole  was  a 
gentleman  and  a lord,  and  he  never  forgets  to 
maintain  the  artificial  polish  of  the  one — cold  as 
the  reflection  of  the  sun  on  ice — nor  to  demon- 
strate bis  consciousness  of  the  dignity  of  the  other. 

“ You  seem  more  interested  for  the  honour  of 
Chatterton’s  abilities,  than  sedulous  to  prove  that 
he  and  Rowley,  if  such  a poet  as  the  latter  ever 
existed,  were  animated  by  so  congenial  a spirit, 
that  the  comj)Ositions  of  the  one  can  hardly — very 
hardly — be  discriminated  from  the  other.  You 
give  us  many  specimens  of  prose  and  poetry, 
v/hich  you  maintain  were  indubitably  Chatterton’s. 
If  they  were,  the  wit  of  man  can  assign  no  reason 
why  the  rest,  ascribed  to  Rowley,  should  not  have 
been  coined  in  the  same  mint.  The  same  soul 
animates  all,  and  the  limbs  that  would  remain  to 
Rowley  would,  indeed,  be  disjecta  memhra  poetce. 
Rowley  would  not  only  have  written  with  a spirit, 
by  many  centuries,  posterior  to  that  of  his  age, 

I Not  first  in  point  of  time,  but  first  from  his  position,  and 
from  his  influence  over  the  destinies  of  Chatterton. 


ROWLEY  CONTROVERSY. 


ix 


but  his  mantle,  escaping  the  hands  of  all  his  con- 
temporaries and  successors,  must  have  been  pre- 
served, notwithstanding  the  wwse  for  time,  and 
reserved  to  invest  Chatterton  from  head  to  foot. 
I,  who  rather  smile  at  the  importance  bestowed 
on  this  fantastic  controversy,  assure  you,  that  as  I 
was  originally  an  actor  in  this  interlude  without 
my  consent,  so  am  I a spectator  most  indiffeient 
how  it  shall  terminate.” 

Next  to  the  aristocrat  comes  the  priest,  Milles, 
dean  of  Exeter  and  president  of  the  Antiquarian 
Society — O heavens  ! what  a president  ! — ap 
peared  before  the  public  as  the  champion  of 
Rowley,  with  a splendid  royal  quarto  edition  of 
his  poems,  and  comment  upon  comment,  and  dis- 
sertation upon  dissertation,  and  notes  on  the  com- 
plexion of  parchment  and  the  color  of  ink,  and 
information  from  friends,  and  reminiscences  of  con- 
temporaries, and  pedigrees  from  the  herald’s  office, 
and  armorial  bearings,  and  inquisitions  and  regis- 
ters, and  indentures,  and  epitaphs,  and  tomb-stones 
and  brass-plates,  made  the  eyes  ache  and  the  head 
swim,  and  obliged  the  reader  to  be  convinced 
igainst  his  will.  Never  was  such  a clamour,  such 
confusion  worse  confounded,  such  a heterogeneous 
intertanglement  of  ingenious  arguments,  based  on 
the  ground  of  self-delusion  and  distorted  proba- 
bility. One  sentence  will  show  how  the  Dean 
could  furnish  himself  with  a keen  weapon,  and  cut 
the  throat  of  his  reasoning  with  it.  Speaking  of 


K 


HISTORY  OF  THE 


l:he  Death  of  Syr  Charles  Bawdin,”  he  affirms, 
“ a greater  variety  of  internal  proofs  may  be  pro- 
duced for  its  authenticity,  than  for  that  of  any 
other  piece  in  the  whole  collection.”  Unfortunate 
assertion  ! Chatterton,  it  is  a known  and  incon- 
trovertible fact,  did  write  the  “ Death  of  Syi 
Charles  Bawdin ; ” so  that  it  must  be  admit- 
ted, that,  if  he  wrote  that  poem,  which  contains 
stronger  proofs  of  its  antique  origin  than  any 
other  in  the  collection,  he  was  the  author  of  the 
whole  of  the  Rowley  poems ! 

Of  all  the  vindicators  of  Rowley,  the  most  amus- 
ing, the  most  laboriously  trifling,  is  Dr.  Sherwin. 
To  relieve  the  heaviness  of  the  present  essay,  we 
shall  give  a few  specimens  of  the  glossarial  obser- 
vations of  the  erudite  Doctor,  extracted  from  his 
“Introduction  to  an  Examination  of  the  Rowleian 
Controversy.”  He  asserts  that  the  evening  means 
the  equalizing  or  rendering  day  and  night  as  to 
light  even^  or  equal ; that  the  eaves  of  a house 
take  their  name  from  the  exactness  of  the  line ; 
that  kers^  a water-cress,  means  a cures  ; that  lane 
implies  a path  so  narrow  as  to  render  it  necessary 
for  passengers  to  go  alane  ; that  a barbde  hall  and 
a barbde  horse  were  so  called,  for  the  same  reason 
that  the  defensive  parapet  was  called  barbican — 
what  this  reason  was,  he  omits  to  inform  us  ; that 
tiancel  differs  only  in  one  letter  from  cancel^  which 
it  will  be  easy  to  show  is  radically  the  same ; for 
AS  mibri  was  written  mihi.  and  nihil  nichil,  it  fol- 


ROWLEY  CONTROVERSY. 


XI 


lows,  therefore,  that  hancelled,  cancelled,  chan- 
celled,  convey  literally  and  identically  the  same 
meaning;  and,  lastly,  that  Pentland  Frith  is  a 
corruption  of  peincteland^  as  that  is  synonymous 
with  pict-land,  e.  pinch’d,  pink’t,  pick’t,  pict, 
Anglice  painted  land. 

Leaving  Dr.  Sherwin  and  his  “ curious  felicity  ” 
of  words,  we  next  meet  with  the  name  of  Chalmers, 
an  Anti-Rowleyan,  whose  depreciating  and  puri- 
tanical Life  of  Chatterton  has  so  righteously  drawn 
down  the  severe  castigation  of  the  present  Lau- 
reate. Scott  and  Southey  himself  are  also  to  be 
included  in  the  same  ranks,  and  their  illustrious 
names  will  probably  carry  conviction  to  the  minds 
of  those  readers  who  are  unable  or  unwilling  to 
decide  the  question  themselves.  Stevens  and  Ma- 
lone and  Pinkerton,  Jamieson  and  Herbert  Croft, 
the  author  of  “ Love  and  Madness,”  have  all  drawn 
the  sword  for  Chatterton,  and  wielded  it  with  skill, 
energy,  and  effect. 

Of  all  the  vindicators  of  the  reality  of  Rowley, 
none  is  more  learned  than  Jacob  Bryant ; and  so 
ably  is  his  argument  conducted,  and  so  perfect  a 
mastery  of  the  subject  does  he  exhibit,  that  it 
would  not  excite  the  least  wonder  in  us,  if  the 
reader,  after  a perusal  of  his  laborious  work,  were 
to  side  with  the  intrepid  denier  of  the  existence 
of  Troy,  and  the  bold  assert er  of  the  ancient 
origin  of  the  Rowley  poems,  provided  that  he 
<5ame  to  the  investigation  for  the  first  time,  and 


HISTORY  OF  THE 


xii 

had  not  read  the  arguments  with  which  Bryant 
has  been  confuted* 

Our  controversialist  reasons  in  this  manner. 
He  asserts  that  the  diction  of  Rowley  is  provin- 
cial, and  after  adducing  many  examples  to  support 
his  affirmation,  he  remarks  : “ The  transcriber  has 
given  some  notes,  in  order  to  explain  words  of  this 
nature.  But  he  is  often  very  unfortunate  in  his 
solutions.  He  mistakes  the  sense  grossly  ; and 
the  words  have  often  far  more  force  and  signifi- 
cance than  he  is  aware  of.  This  could  not  have 
been  the  case  if  he  had  been  the  author.  His 
blunders  would  not  have  turned  out  to  his  advan- 
tage ; nor  could  there  have  been  more  sense  in 
the  lines  than  in  the  head  which  conceived  them. 
In  short,  chance  could  never  have  so  contrived  that 
the  poetry  should  be  better  than  the  purpose.” 

After  a few  more  remarks  on  the  dialects  of  the 
English  language,  and  some  observations  on  Chat- 
terton’s  ignorance  of  French,  Latin,  and  Greek, 
whence  he  deduces  the  impossibility  of  his  making 
such  an  “ exotic  collection”  of  words,  Bryant  pro- 
ceeds : 

“ I lay  it  down  for  a fixed  principle,  that  if  a 
person  transmits  to  me  a learned  and  excellent 
composition,  and  does  not  understand  the  context, 
he  cannot  be  the  author. 

“ I lay  it*  down  for  a certainty,  if  a person  in 
any  such  composition  lias,  in  transcribing,  varied 
any  of  the  terms  through  ignorance,  and  the  true 


ROWLEY  CONTROVERSY. 


XIII 


reading  appears  from  the  context,  that  he  cannot 
have  been  the  author.  If,  as  the  ancient  Vicar  is 
said  to  have  done  in  respect  to  a portion  of  the 
Gospel,  he,  for  sumpsimus,  reads  uniformly  mump- 
simus,  he  never  composed  the  treatise  in  which 
he  is  so  grossly  mistaken.  If  a person,  in  his  notes 
upon  a poem,  mistakes  Liher  Bacchus,  for  liher  a 
book ; and  when  he  meets  with  liher  a book,  he 
interprets  it  liher  free,  he  certainly  did  not  com- 
pose the  poem  where  those  terms  occur : he  had 
not  parts  nor  learning  to  effect  it.  In  short,  every 
writer  must  know  his  own  meaning ; and  if  any 
person,  by  his  glossary  or  any  other  explanation, 
shows  that  he  could  not  arrive  at  such  meaning, 
he  affords  convincing  proof  that  the  original  was 
by  another  hand.  This  ignorance  will  be  found 
in  Chatterton ; and  many  mistakes  in  consequence 
of  it  will  be  seen, — of  which  mistakes  and  igno- 
rance I will  lay  before  the  reader  many  examples. 
When  these  have  been  ascertained,  let  the  reader 
judge  whether  this  inexperienced  and  unlettered 
boy  could  have  been  the  author  of  the  poems  in 
question.” 

Mr.  Bryant,  in  accordance  with  this  intimation, 
has  favoured  the  world  with  a treatise  of  six  hun- 
dred pages,  containing  instances  of  Chatterton’s 
inaccuracy,  with  his  own  corrections  and  improve- 
znents,  and  occasional  recurrences  to  his  first  posi- 
tions, and  clever  and  forensic  vindications  of  those 
positions.  There  is  a great  deal  of  historical,  topo- 


s::v 


HISTORY  OF  THE 


grapliical,  and  critical  information ; a vast  amount 
of  antiquarian  lore  and  erudite  research;  a strange 
display  of  patience  and  partiality ; and  a fixed 
determination  never  to  believe  in  the  genius  of 
Chatterton,  and  always  to  maintain  the  claims 
of  the  imaginary  Rowley.  We  will  subjoin  one 
instance  of  what  Mr.  Bryant  terms  the  miscon- 
ceptions of  Chatterton,  with  Mr.  Malone’s  ex- 
planation. 

In  the  song  to  ^lla,  which  was  given  to  Mr. 
Barrett  in  Chatter  ton’s  handwriting,  two  lines  are 
found  to  be  expressed  in  the  following  manner : — 

Orr  seest  the  hatchedd  stede 
Ifmyninge  o’er  the  mede. 

But  when  the  original  parchment,  which  was 
brought  the  next  day,  had  been  cleaned  and  ex- 
amined more  accurately,  the  true  reading  was 
found  to  be,  not  ifrayninge,  but  yprauncynge ; 
which  makes,  in  respect  to  sense,  a material  dif- 
ference.” 

This  is  Mr.  Bryant’s  account  of  the  matter. 
Mr.  Malone  draws  a very  different  deduction  from 
the  variation  on  which  he  lays  so  much  stress. 

In  one  copy  of  the  ‘ Songe  to  ^lla,’  which 
Chatterton  gave  to  Mr.  Barrett,  these  lines  were 
Sound : — 

Or  seest  the  hatched  steed 
Ifrayning  o’er  the  meed. 

Being  called  upon  for  the  original,  he  the  next 


ROWLEY  CONTROVERSY. 


XV 


day  produced  a parchment  containing  the  same 
poem,  in  which  he  had  written  yprauncing,  in- 
stead of  ifrayning  ; but  by  some  artifice,  he  had 
obscured  the  MS.  so  much,  to  give  it  an  ancient 
appearance,  that  Mr.  Barrett  could  not  make  out 
the  word  without  the  use  of  galls.  What  follows 
from  all  this,  but  that  Chatterton  found,  on  exam- 
ination, that  there  was  no  such  word  as  ifrayning^ 
and  that  he  substituted  another  in  its  place  ? In 
the  same  poem  he  at  one  time  wrote  ‘ locks,’ 
‘ burlie,’  ‘ brasting,’  and  ‘ kennest ; ’ at  another, 
‘hairs,’  ‘valiant,’  ‘bursting,’  and  ‘hearest.’  Va- 
riations of  this  kind  he  could  have  produced  with- 
out end.  What  he  called  originals,  indeed,  were 
probably  in  general  more  perfect  than  what  he 
called  copies ; because  the  former  were  always 
produced  after  the  other,  and  were,  in  truth,  noth- 
ing more  than  second  editions  of  the  same  pieces.” 
Malone  was  a most  vigorous  and  acute  reasoner, 
and  is  deservedly  ranked  among  the  first  contro- 
versialists on  the  Chatterton  side  of  the  question. 
He  thus  deals  with  the  “ fixed  principles  ” of  the 
asserter  of  the  authenticity  of  Rowley’s  poems  : — 
“ I cannot  dismiss  Mr.  Bryant  without  taking 
notice  of  a position  which  he  has  laid  down,  and 
which  is,  indeed,  the  basis  of  almost  all  the  argu- 
ments that  he  has  urged  to  prove  the  authenticity 
of  the  Bristol  MS.  It  is  this — that  as  every  author 
must  know  his  own  meaning,  and  as  Chatterton  has 
sometimes  given  wrong  interpretations  of  words 


Kvi  HISTORY  OF  THE 

that  are  found  in  the  poems  attributed  to  Kowley, 
he  could  not  be  the  author  of  those  poems.” 

“ If  Chatterton  had  originally  written  these  poems 
in  the  form  in  which  they  now  appear,  this  argu^ 
ment  might,  in  a doubtful  question,  have  some 
weight ; but,  although  I have  as  high  an  opinion 
of  his  abilities  as  perhaps  any  person  whatsoever, 
and  do,  indeed,  believe  him  to  have  been  the  great- 
est genius  that  England  has  produced  since  the 
days  of  Shakspeare,  I am  not  ready  to  acknowl- 
edge that  he  was  endued  with  any  miraculous 
powers. 

“ Devoted  as  he  was,  from  his  infancy,  to  the 
study  of  antiquities,  he  could  not  have  been  so 
conversant  with  ancient  language,  or  have  had  all 
the  words  necessary  to  be  used  so  present  to  his 
mind,  as  to  write  antiquated  poetry  of  any  consid- 
erable length  off-hand.  He,  without  doubt,  wrote 
his  verses  in  plain  English,  and  afterwards  em- 
broidered them  with  such  old  words  as  would  suit 
the  sense  and  metre.  With  these  he  furnished 
himself,  sometimes  probably  from  memory,  and 
sometimes  from  glossaries  ; and  annexed  such  in- 
terpretations as  he  found  or  made.  When  he 
could  not  readily  find  a word  that  would  suit  his 
metre,  he  invented  one.  If,  then,  his  old  words 
afford  some  sense,  and  yet  are  sometimes  inter- 
preted wrong,  nothing  more  follows  than  that  his 
glossaries  were  imperfect,  or  his  knowledge  inac- 
curate ; still,  however,  he  might  have  had  a con- 


ROWLEY  CONTROVERSY.  Xvii 

f’ised,  though  not  a complete  idea  of  their  import. 
If,  as  the  commentator  asserts,  the  words  that  he 
has  explained,  not  only  suit  the  places  in  which 
they  stand,  but  are  often  more  apposite  than  he 
imagined,  and  have  a latent  and  significant  mean- 
ing that  never  occurred  to  him,  this  will  only  show 
that  a man’s  book  is  sometimes  wiser  than  him- 
self ; a truth  of  which  we  have  every  day  so  many 
striking  instances,  that  it  was  sarcely  necessary 
for  this  learned  antiquarian  to  have  exhibited  a 
new  proof  of  it. 

“ Let  it  be  considered,  too,  that  the  glossary  and 
the  text  were  not  always  written  at  the  same 
time ; that  Chatterton  might  not  always  remem- 
ber the  precise  sense  in  which  he  had  used  anti- 
quated words  ; and,  from  a confused  recollection, 
or  from  the  want  of  the  very  same  books  that  he 
had  consulted  while  he  was  writing  his  poems, 
might  add  sometimes  a false,  and  sometimes  an 
imperfect  interpretation.  This  is  not  a mere  hy- 
pothesis,— for  in  one  instance  he  knew  that  the 
'comment  was  written  at  some  interval  of  time 
after  the  text.  The  glossary  of  the  poem,  entitled 
‘ The  English  Metamorphosis,’  was  written  down 
by  Chatterton  extemporally,  without  the  assistance 
of  any  book,  at  the  desire,  and  in  the  presence,  of 
Mr.  Barrett.” 

Mr.  Malone  thus  satisfactorily  accounts  for  the 
inconsistency  of  Chatterton’s  interpretations,  and 
^br  the  misapprehension  under  which  it  must  b<> 

VOL.  II.  n 


IVlll 


HISTORY  OF  THE 


admitted  that  Mr.  Bryant  has  very  convincingly 
demonstrated  that  the  young  poet  laboured. 
Whether  his  misconceptions  really  originated  in 
the  precise  sources  which  Mr.  Malone  indicates,  is 
foreign  to  the  argument,  and  no  way  affects  the 
correctness  of  his  logic.  He  was  not  obliged  to 
show  how  they  did  arise,  but  only  how  they  might 
have  arisen.  It  was  enough  for  him  to  account 
for  the  existence  of  error,  without  tracing  the  mode 
and  processes  of  its  existence. 

If  it  be  conceded  that  the  positions  which  the 
stout  old  skeptic  laid  down  at  the  commencement 
of  his  work  are  fairly  shown  to  be  untenable,  the 
reader  will  not  find  any  difficulty  in  refuting  the 
arguments  which  are  adduced  in  the  remaindei 
of  his  volume,  grounded  on  Chatterton’s  incapac- 
ity and  ignorance,  and  on  the  fact  that  there  are 
verses,  or  scraps  of  verses,  to  be  found  in 
ancient  poetry  equally  melodious  with  the  tragedy 
of  JEUa,  or  the  Battle  of  Hastings.  When  we 
add  that,  to  establish  the  antiquity  of  the  versifi- 
cation of  Bow  ley,  and  to  prove  that  the  appear- 
ance of  novelty  which  it  exhibits  is  no  argument 
against  that  antiquity,  the  critic  cites  two  passages 
from  the  poems  of  Spenser,  one  of  which  is  harsh 
and  feeble,  the  other  musical  and  nervous,  the 
reader  will  not  entertain  a very  high  character  of 
the  candour  or  the  poetical  judgment  of  this  cel- 
ebrated controversialist: 

The  last  of  the  combatants  engaged  in  the 


ROWLEY  CONTROVERSY. 


xix 


Cliattertonian  war,  Avhom  we  shall  mention,  is 
Thomas  Warton,  the  Professor  of  Poetry  in  the 
University  of  Oxford.  In  the  twenty-sixth  section 
of  his  History  of  English  Poetry,”  he  has  fur- 
nished us  with  a complete  analysis  of  the  Rowley 
Poems,  and  perhaps  a more  judicious  method  of 
conducting  the  argument  could  not  have  been 
adopted.  He  supports  his  view  of  the  question 
by  demonstrating  that  the  writing  of  the  parch- 
ment which  contained  the  Ode  to  JElla,  the  Epistio 
to  Lydgate,  with  his  Answer,  was,  in  the  opinion 
of  an  ingenious  critic  and  an  intelligent  antiquary, 
a gross  and  palpable  forgery ; that  the  form  of 
the  letters  in  the  parchment  differed  very  essen- 
tially from  every  one  of  our  earlier  alphabets ; 
that  the  characters  wanted  consistency  and  uni- 
formity; that  the  appearance  of  antiquity  had 
been  attempted  by  the  application  of  ochre,  which 
was  easily  rubbed  off  with  a linen  cloth ; that  the 
original  manuscript,  containing  the  Accounte  of 
W.  Cannynge’s  Feast,  is  totally  unlike  the  three  or 
four  authentic  manuscripts  of  the  time  of  Edward 
the  Fourth,  with  which  it  was  compared  ; and  that 
the  style  and  drawing  of  the  armorial  bearings 
depicted  in  it  discover  the  hand  of  a modern 
uerald.  This  is  an  analysis  of  his  external  argu- 
ment. 

The  internal  evidences  of  the  fabrication  of  the 
Poems  are,  an  unnatural  affectation  of  ancient 
spelling  and  of  obsolete  words  not  belonging  to 


XX 


HISTORY  OF  THE 


the  period  assigned  them  ; combinations  of  old 
words  which  never  existed  in  the  unpolished 
state  of  the  English  language ; ^ an  artificial 
misapplication  of  antiquated  diction ; and  the  poet’s 
forgetfulness  of  his  assumed  character,  displayed 
in  the  perspicuity  and  freedom  from  uncouth  ex- 
pressions which  not  unfrequently  characterize  his 
productions. 

Among  the  internal  evidences  he  numbers  many 
anachronisms.  In  the  Battle  of  Hastings,  Turgot 
has  anticipated  every  conjecture  of  the  moderns 
as  regards  the  origin  of  Stonehenge.  It  is  called 
by  him  a Druidical  temple ; whereas  the  estab- 
lished and  uniform  opinion  of  the  Welsh  and  Ar- 
morican  bards,  and  of  the  historians  and  chroni- 
clers through  successive  ages,  indicates  that  it 
was  erected  in  memory  of  Hengist’s  massacre. 


I No  person  acquainted  with  the  rudiments  of  the  history 
of  our  language  could  for  a moment  be  deceived  by  the  pre- 
tended obsolete  diction  of  the  Rowley  poems,  which,  so  far 
from  being  good  Bristol  English  of  the  15th  century,  is  a hete- 
rogeneous jargon  of  no  age  or  locality  whatever.  To  the 
reader  of  our  day,  it  is  almost  incomprehensible  that  the 
authenticity  of  these  forgeries  should  have  been  thought  to  re- 
quire so  anxious  and  learned  a refutation.  An  easy  and 
•ufficient  demonstration  of  the  point  might  have  been  found  in 
Dne  simple  fact.  The  word  yttes  (its)  is  constantly  employed  in 
the  Rowley  poems,  as  the  genitive  of  the  neuter  pronoun 
(see  pp.  27,  34,  57,  62,  &c.)  ; but  it  is  now  well  known  that 
this  very  irregular  formation  did  not  make  its  appearance  in 
Eng.ish,  until  more  than  a century  after  the  epoch  of  “ dygne 
Mastre  Canynge.”  C. 


ROWLEY  CONTROVERSY. 


XXI 


In  the  Epistle  to  Lydgate,  the  impropriety  of 
religious  dramas  is  condemned,  and  some  great 
story  of  human  manners  is  recommended  as  most 
suitable  for  theatrical  representation ; but  when 
we  reflect  that  this  opinion  would  have  exposed 
the  writer  to  the  censures  of  the  Church,  and  that 
it  was  not  till  the  lapse  of  another  century,  that 
the  true  philosophy  of  the  drama  was  understood 
in  the  lowest  degree  in  this  country,  we  are  con- 
strained to  acknowledge  that  this  could  not  be  the 
doctrine  inculcated  by  a priest  in  the  reign  of  the 
Fourth  Edward. 

War  ton  next  adduces  the  inequality  so  conspic- 
uous in  the  productions  of  our  old  writers,  but 
without  its  counterpart  in  the  Rowley  Poems,  as 
an  additional  proof  of  their  modern  origin.  In 
the  former,  splendid  descriptions,  poetical  imagery 
and  ornamental  comparisons  occur  but  rarely ; 
while  the  latter  are,  throughout,  poetical  and  ani- 
mated. Our  old  English  bards  abound  in  unnat- 
ural conceptions,  strange  imaginations,  and  ridicu- 
lous absurdities;  but  Rowley’s  poems  present  us 
with  no  incongruous  combinations,  no  mixture  of 
manners,  institutions,  customs,  and  characters. 
The  anachronisms  in  the  Battle  of  Hastings  are 
EHich  as  no  old  poet  could  possible  have  fallen  into, 
and  betray  an  unskilful  imitation  of  ancient  man- 
ners. The  verses  of  Lydgate  and  his  immediate 
successors  are  often  rugged  and  unmusical;  but 
Rowley’s  poetry  sustains  one  uniform  tone  of  bar- 


X.X11 


HISTOliY  OF  THE 


mony ; and  if  we  brush  away  the  asperiti  is  of  the 
antiquated  spelling,  conveys  its  cultivated  imagery 
in  a polished  and  agreeable  strain  of  versification. 
In  conclusion,  Warton  gives  it  as  his  opinion  that 
the  real  author  of  these  poems  was  Chatterton : 
he  supports  this  opinion  by  the  merit  of  his  ac- 
knowledged compositions;  by  the  testimony  of 
those  who  were  acquainted  with  his  conversation  ; 
by  the  vast  acquisitions  of  knowledge  which  he 
had  attained ; and  by  the  possession  of  that  com- 
prehensiveness of  mind,  and  activity  of  under- 
standing, which  predominated  over  his  situation  in 
life,  and  his  opportunities  of  instruction;  by  his 
propensity  to  literary  forgery  ; by  his  predilection 
for  the  study  of  antiquities  ; and  by  his  enterpris- 
ing and  ambitious  character;  and  the  necessity 
which  constrained  him  to  subsist  by  expedients. 

Such  is  the  acute  and  simple  reasoning  of  the 
Oxford  Professor.  To  the  writer  of  this  essay  it 
seems  unanswerable.  It  is  based  not  on  probabil- 
ities, or  arguments  drawn  from  incidental  verisi- 
militudes, but  on  the  eternal  and  indestructible 
principles  of  poetical  thought  and  composition  ; 
on  analogy,  on  experiment,  on  comparison. 

We  have  endeavoured  to  furnish  the  reader 
with  a brief  but  comprehensive  account  of  this 
celebrated  controversy.  It  would  have  been  easy 
to  analyze  the  whole  works  of  the  difierent  contro- 
versialists on  each  side  of  the  question  : but  as  in 
that  case  we  must  have  added  at  least  another 


ROWLEY  CONTROVERSY.  XXiii 

volame  to  the  edition  of  Chatterton’s  poems  now 
given  to  the  world,  we  concluded  that  it  would  be 
the  more  advisable  course  to  draw  up  a short  ac- 
count of  the  principal  asserters  of  the  ancient  ori- 
gin of  the  Eowlej  Poems,  with  the  answers  which 
have  been  returned  by  those  who  believe  in  the 
genius  and  acquirements  of  the  marvellous  Boy 
of  Bristol. 


ROWLfiY  POEMS. 


* BRISTOWE  TRAGEDIE ; 

OR,  THE  DETHE  OF  SYR  CHARLES  BAWDIN. 


VOL.  II. 


I 


BRISTOWE  TRAGEDIE; 


OR,  THE  DETHE  OF  SYR  CHARLES  BAWDIN. 

The  person  here  celebrated,  under  the  name  of  Syr  Charles 
Bawdin,  was  probably  Sir  Baldewyn  Fulford,  Knt.,  a zealous 
Lancastrian,  who  was  executed  at  Bristol  in  the  latter  end 
of  1461,  the  first  year  of  Edward  the  Fourth.  He  was  at- 
tainted, with  many  others,  in  the  general  act  of  attainder, 
1 Edward  IV.,  but  he  seems  to  have  been  executed  under  a 
special  commission  for  the  trial  of  treasons,  &c.,  within  the 
town  of  Bristol.  The  fragment  of  the  old  chronicle  pub- 
lished by  Hearne  at  the  end  of  Sprotti  Chronica,  p.  289, 
says  only,  “(1  Edward  IV.)  was  taken  Sir  Baldewine  Ful- 
ford and  behedid  at  Bristow.”  But  the  matter  is  more  fully 
stated  in  the  act  which  passed  in  7 Edward  IV.,  for  the  resti- 
tution in  blood  and  estate  of  Thomas  Fulford,  Knt.,  eldest 
son  of  Baldewyn  Fulford,  late  of  Fulford,  in  the  county  of 
Devonshire,  Knt.,  Rot.  Pat.  8 Edward  IV.,  p.  1.  m.  13.  The 
preamble  of  this  act,  after  stating  the  attainder  by  the  act 
1 Edward  IV.,  goes  on  thus:  “ And  also  the  said  Baldewyn, 
the  said  first  yere  of  your  noble  reign,  at  Bristowe,  in  the 
shere  of  Bristowe,  before  Henry  Erie  of  Essex,  William 
Hastyngs,  of  Hastyngs,  Knt.,  Richard  Chock,  William 
Canyng,  Maire  of  the  said  towne  of  Bristowe,  and  Thomas 
Yong,  by  force  of  your  letters  patentes  to  theym  and  other 
directe,  to  here  and  determine  all  treesons,  &c.,  doon  withyn 
the  said  towne  of  Bristowe  before  the  vth  day  of  September, 
the  first  yere  of  your  said  reign,  was  atteynt  of  dyvers  tresons 
by  him  doon  ayenst  your  Highness,”  &c.  If  the  commission 
Bat  soon  after  the  vth  of  September,  as  is  most  probable. 
King  Edward  might  very  possibly  be  at  Bristol  at  the  tima 


4 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


of  Sir  Baldewyn’s  execution;  for  in  the  interval  between  hia 
coronation  and  the  parliament  which  met  in  November,  he 
made  a progress  (as  the  Continuator  of  Stowe  informs  us, 
p.  416)  by  the  south  coast  in  the  west,  and  was  (among 
other  places)  at  Bristol.  Indeed,  there  is  a circumstance 
which  might  lead  us  to  believe,  that  ne  was  actually  a spec- 
tator of  the  execution  from  the  minster  windcw,  as  described 
in  the  poem.  In  an  old  accompt  of  the  Procurators  of  St. 
Ewin’s  Church,  which  was  then  the  minster,  from  xx  March 
in  the  1 Edward  IV.  to  1 April  in  the  year  next  ensuing,  is 
the  following  article,  according  to  a copy  made  by  Mr.  Cat- 
cott,  from  the  original  book. 

“Item  for  washynge  the  church  payven  ageyns  j iiijd. 

Kynge  Edward  4th  is  comynge  • • I ob. 

—Southey’s  Chatterton^  ii.  86. 

I. 

The  feathered  songster  chaunticleer 
Han  wounde  hys  bugle  home, 

And  tolde  the  earlie  villager 
The  commynge  of  the  morne  : 


II. 

Kynge  Edwarde  sawe  the  ruddie  streakes 
Of  lygthe  eclypse  the  greie ; 

And  herde  the  raven’s  crokynge  throte 
Proclayme  the  fated  daie, 

III. 

Thou’rt  righte,”  quod  hee,  for,  by  the  Goddt: 
That  syttes  enthron’d  on  hyghe  ! 

Charles  Bawdin,  and  hys  fellowes  twaine. 

To  (laie  shall  surelie  die.” 


BRISTOWE  TRAGEDIE. 


IV. 

Thcnne  wythe  a jugge  of  nappy  ale 

Hys  Knyghtes  dydd  onne  hymm  waite ; 
* Goe  tell  the  traytour,  thatt  to  dale 
Hee  leaves  thys  mortall  state.” 


V. 

Syr  Canterlone  thenne  bendedd  lowe, 
Wythe  harte  brymm-fulle  of  woe  ; 
Hee  journey’d  to  the  castle-gate, 

And  to  Syr  Charles  dydd  goe. 


VI. 

But  whenne  hee  came,  hys  children  twaine. 

And  eke  hys  lovynge  wyfe, 

Wythe  brinie  tears  dydd  wett  the  floore. 

For  goode  Syr  Charleses  lyfe. 

VII. 

“ 0 goode  Syr  Charles  ! ” sayd  Canterlone, 
“Badde  tydings  I doe  brynge.” 

“ Speke  boldlie,  manne,”  sayd  brave  Syr  Charles, 
Whatte  says  thie  traytor  kynge  ? ” 

VIII. 

^ I greeve  to  telle,  before  yonne  sonne 
Does  fromme  the  welkin  flye, 

Hee  bathe  uponne  hys  honnour  sworne, 

Thatt  thou  shalt  surelie  die.” 


s 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


IX. 

‘ Wee  all  must  die,”  quod  brave  Syr  Charles, 
“ Of  thatte  I’m  not  affearde  ; 

Whatte  bootes  to  lyve  a little  space  ? 
“Thanke  Jesu,  Fm  prepar’d ; 


X. 

^ Butt  telle  thye  kynge,  for  myne  bee’s  not, 
I’de  sooner  die  to  daie 
Thanne  lyve  hys  slave,  as  manie  are, 

Tho’  I shoulde  lyve  for  aie.” 


XI. 

Thenne  Canterlone  bee  dydd  goe  out, 

To  tell  the  maior  straite 

To  gett  all  tbynges  ynn  reddyness 
For  goode  Syr  Charles’s  fate. 

XII. 

Thenne  Maisterr  Canynge  saughte  the  kynge, 
And  felle  down  onne  hys  knee ; 

1 ’m  come,”  quod  hee,  “ unto  your  grace 
To  move  your  clemencye.” 

XIII. 

Thenne  quod  the  kynge,  “ youre  tale  speke  out 
You  have  been  much  oure  friende  ; 

Whatever  youre  request  may  bee, 

Wee  wylle  to  ytte  attende.” 


BmSTOWE  TRAGEDIE. 


7 


XIV. 

‘‘My  nobile  leige  ! alle  my  request 
Ys  for  a nobile  knyghte, 

Who,  tho’  mayhap  hee  has  donne  wronge, 
Hee  thoughte  ytte  stylle  was  ryghte  r 


XV. 

^ Hee  has  a spouse  and  children  twaine, 

Alle  rewyn’d  are  for  aie  ; 

Yff  thatt  you  are  resolv’d  to  lett 
Charles  Bawdin  die  to  dale.” 

XVI. 

“ Speke  nott  of  such  a tray  tour  vile.” 

The  kynge  ynne  furie  sayde  ; 

Before  the  evening  starre  doth  sheene, 

Bawdin  shall  loose  hys  hedde  ; 

XVII. 

“Justice  does  loudlie  for  hym  calle, 

And  hee  shalle  have  hys  meede  : 

Speke,  Maister  Canynge  ! Whatte  thynge  else 
Att  present  doe  you  neede  ? ” 

XVIII. 

“ My  nobile  leige,”  goode  Canynge  sayde^ 

“ Leave  justice  to  our  Godde, 

And  laye  the  yronne  rule  asyde  ; 

Be  thyne  the  olyve  rodde. 


3 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


XIX. 

‘‘Was  Godde  to  serche  our  hertes  and  reines, 
The  best  were  sjnners  grete  ; 

Christ’s  vycarr  only  knowes  ne  synne, 

Ynne  alle  thys  mortall  state. 

XX. 

“ Lette  mercie  rule  thyne  infante  reigne, 
’Twylle  faste  thye  crowne  fulle  sure  ; 
From  race  to  race  thy  familie 
Alle  sov’reigns  shall  endure : 


XXI. 

“Butyff  wythe  bloode  and  slaughter  thou 
Beginne  thy  infante  reigne, 

Thy  crowne  uponne  thy  childrennes  brows 
Wylie  never  long  remay  ne.” 

XXII. 

Canynge,  awaie  ! thys  traytour  vile 
Has  scorn’d  my  power  and  mee  ; 

Howe  canst  thou  thenne  for  such  a manne 
Intreate  my  clemencye  ? ” 

XXIII. 

“ Mie  nobile  leige  ! the  trulie  brave 
Wylie  val’rous  actions  prize, 

Respect  a brave  and  nobile  mynde, 

Altho’  ynne  enemies.” 


BIIISTOWE  TRAGEDIE. 


9 


XXIV. 

^ Canynge,  awaie  ! By  Godde  ynne  Heav’n 
Thatt  dydd  mee  being  gyve, 

I wylle  nott  taste  a bitt  of  breade 
Whilst  thys  Syr  Charles  dothe  lyve. 

XXV. 

“ Bie  Marie,  and  alle  Seinctes  ynne  Heav’n, 
Thys  sunne  shall  be  hys  laste;’’ 

Thenne  Canynge  dropt  a brinie  teare, 

And  from  the  presence  paste. 

XXVI. 

Wyth  herte  brymm-fulle  of  gnawynge  grief, 
Hee  to  Syr  Charles  dydd  goe, 

And  satt  hymm  downe  uponue  a stoole. 

And  teares  beganne  to  flowe. 

XXVIT. 

‘‘Wee  alle  must  die,”  quod  brave  Syr  Charles 
“ Whatte  bootes  ytte  howe  or  whenne; 
Dethe  ys  the  sure,  the  certaine  fate 
Of  all  wee  mortall  menne. 

XXVIII. 

“ Saye,  why,  my  friend,  thie  honest  soul 
Bunns  overr  att  thyne  eye ; 

• Is  ytte  for  my  most  welcome  doome 
Thatt  thou  doste  child-lyke  crye  ? ” 


10 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


XXIX. 

Quod  godlie  Canynge,  “ I doe  weepe, 

Thatt  thou  soe  soone  must  dye, 

And  leave  thy  sonnes  and  helpless  wyfe  ; 
’Tys  thys  thatt  wettes  myne  eye.” 

XXX. 

‘‘  Thenne  drie  the  teares  thatt  out  thyne  eye 
From  godlie  fountaines  sprynge; 

Dethe  I despise,  and  alle  the  power 
Of  Edwarde,  traytor  kynge. 

XXXI. 

^ Whan  through  the  tyrant’s  welcom  means 
I shall  resigne  my  lyfe. 

The  Godde  I serve  wylle  soone  provyde 
For  bothe  mye  sonnes  and  wyfe. 

XXXII. 

Before  I sawe  the  lyghtsome  sunne, 

Thys  was  appointed  mee  ; 

Shall  mortal  manne  repyne  or  grudge 
Whatt  Godde  ordeynes  to  bee  ? 

XXXIII. 

Howe  oft  ynne  battaile  have  I stoode. 

Whan  thousands  dy’d  arounde  ; 

Whan  smoky nge  streemes  of  crimson  bloode 
Imbrew’d  the  fatten’d  grounde  : 


BRISTOWE  TRAGEDIE. 


11 


XXXIV. 

“ Howe  djdd  I knowe  thatt  ev’ry  darte, 
That  cutte  the  airie  waie, 

Myghte  nott  fynde  passage  toe  my  harte, 
And  close  myne  eyes  for  aie  ? 

XXXV. 

And  shall  I nowe,  forr  feere  of  dethe, 
Looke  wanne  and  bee  dysmayde  ? 

Ne  ! fromme  my  herte  flie  childyshe  feere, 
Bee  alle  the  manne  display’d. 

XXXVI. 

“ Ah ! goddelyke  Henrie ! Godde  forefende, 
And  guarde  thee  and  thye  sonne, 

Yff  ’tis  hys  wylle  ; but  yff  ’tis  nott, 

Why  thenne  hys  wylle  bee  donne. 

XXXVII. 

“ My  honest  friende,  my  faulte  has  beene 
To  serve  Godde  and  mye  prynce  ; 

And  thatt  I no  tyme-server  am, 

My  dethe  wylle  soone  convynce. 

XXXVIII. 

“ Ynne  Londonne  citye  was  I borne, 

Of  parents  of  grete  note ; 

My  fadre  dydd  a nobile  armes 
Emblazon  onne  hys  cote  : 


12 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


XXXIX. 

'‘I  make  ne  double  butt.hee  ys  gone 
Where  soone  I hope  to  goe ; 
Where  wee  for  ever  shall  bee  blest, 
From  oute  the  reech  of  woe  : 


XL. 

‘‘  Hee  taughte  mee  justice  and  the  laws 
Wyth  pitie  to  unite  ; 

And  eke  hee  taughte  mee  howe  to  knowe 
The  wronge  cause  fromme  the  ryghte  : 

XLI. 

Hee  taughte  mee  wythe  a prudent  hande 
To  feede  the  hungrie  poore, 

Ne  lette  mye  servants  dryve  awaie 
The  hungrie  fromme  my  doore  : 


XLII. 

^‘And  none  can  saye  butt  alle  mye  lyfe 
I have  hys  wordyes  kept ; 

And  summ’d  the  actyonns  of  the  daie 
Eche  nyghte  before  I slept.^ 


1 If  we  look  to  the  ballad  of  Sir  Charles  Bawdin,  and  trans- 
late it  into  modern  English,  we  shall  find  its  strength  and 
nterest  to  have  no  dependence  on  obsolete  words.  In  the 
striking  passage  of  the  martyr  Bawdin  standing  erect  in  his 
car  to  rebuke  Edward  who  beheld  him  from  the  window 
when 


BRISTOWE  TRAGEDIE. 


13 


XLIII. 

“ I have  a spouse,  goe  aske  of  her, 
Yffldefyl’d  her  bedde  ? 

I have  a kynge,  and  none  can  laie 
Blacke  treason  onne  my  hedde. 

XLIV. 

“ Ynne  Lent,  and  onne  the  holie  eve, 
Fromme  fleshe  I dydd  refrayne ; 

Whie  should  I thenne  appeare  dismay’d 
To  leave  thys  worlde  of  payne  ? 

XLV. 

‘‘Ne  ! hapless  Henrie  I I rejoyce, 

I shalle  ne  see  thye  dethe ; 

Moste  willinglie  ynne  thye  just  cause 
Doe  I resign  my  brethe. 


“ The  tyrant’s  soul  rushed  to  his  face,” 
and  when  he  exclaimed, 

“ Behold  the  man ! he  speaks  the  truth, 

He ’s  greater  than  a king;  ” 

in  these,  and  all  the  striking  parts  of  the  ballad,  no  effect  is 
owing  to  mock  antiquity,  but  to  the  simple  and  high  concep- 
tion of  a great  and  just  character,  who 

“ Summ’d  the  actions  of  the  day, 

Each  night  before  he  slept.” 

What  a moral  portraiture  from  the  hand  of  a boy!  — Gamp- 
<IELL. 


14 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


XL  VI. 

^ Olij  fickle  people  ! rewyn’d  londe  ! 

Thou  wylt  kerine  peace  ne  moe  ; 

Whyle  Richard’s  sonnes  exalt  themselves, 
Thye  brookes  wythe  bloude  wylle  flowe* 

XLVII. 

“Sale,  were  ye  tyr’d  of  godlie  peace, 

And  godlie  Henrie’s  reigne, 

Thatt  you  dydd  choppe  youre  easie  daies 
For  those  of  bloude  and  peyne  ? 

XL  VIII. 

“ Whatte  tho’  I onne  a sledde  bee  drawne. 
And  mangled  by  a hynde, 

I doe  defye  the  traytor’s  pow’r, 

Hee  can  ne  harm  my  mynde  ; 

XLIX. 

“Whatte  tho’,  uphoisted  onne  a pole, 

Mye  lymbes  shall  rotte  ynne  ayre. 

And  ne  ryche  monument  of  brasse 
Charles  Bawdin’s  name  shall  bear ; 

L. 

“ Yett  ynne  the  holie  booke  above, 

Whyche  tyme  can’t  eate  awaie. 

There  wythe  the  servants  of  the  Lorde 
Mye  name  shall  lyve  for  aie. 


BRISTOWE  TRAGEDIE. 


15 


LI. 

‘‘Thenne  welcome  detlie  ! for  Ijfe  eteme 
I leave  thys  mortall  lyfe  : 

Farewell,  vayne  worlde,  and  alle  that’s  deare, 
Mye  sonnes  and  lovynge  wyfe  ! 

LII. 

Nowe  dethe  as  welcome  to  mee  comes, 

As  e’er  the  moneth  of  Maie ; 

Nor  woulde  I even  wyshe  to  lyve, 

Wyth  my  dere  wyfe  to  staie.” 

LIII. 

Quod  Canynge,  “ ’Tys  a goodlie  thynge 
To  bee  prepar’d  to  die  ; 

And  from  thys  world  of  peyne  and  grefe 
To  Godde  ynne  Heav’n  to  flie.”  * 

LIV. 

And  nowe  the  bell  beganne  to  tolle, 

And  claryonnes  to  sounde  ; 

Syr  Charles  hee  herde  the  horses’  feete 
A prauncing  onne  the  grounde  : 


LV. 

And  just  before  the  officers 
His  lovynge  wyfe  came  ynne, 
Weepynge  unfeigned  teeres  of  woe, 
Wythe  loude  and  dysmalle  dynne. 


IG 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


LVI. 

Sweet  Florence  ! nowe  I praie  forbere, 
Ynne  quiet  lett  mee  die  ; 

Praie  Godde,  thatt  ev’ry  Christian  soule 
Maye  looke  onne  dethe  as  I. 

LVII. 

“ Sweet  Florence  ! why  these  brinie  teeres  ? 
Theye  washe  my  soule  awaie, 

And  almost  make  mee  wyshe  for  lyfe, 
Wythe  thee,  sweete  dame,  to  stale. 

Lvm. 

“ ’Tys  butt  a journie  I shalle  goe 
Untoe  the  lande  of  blysse ; 

Nowe,  as  a proofe  of  husbande’s  love, 

* Receive  thys  holie  kysse.” 

LIX. 

Thenne  Florence,  fault’ring  ynne  her  saie, 
Tremblynge  these  wordy es  spoke. 

Ah,  cruele  Edwarde  ! bloudie  kynge  ! 

My  herte  ys  welle  nyghe  broke : 


LX. 

^ Ah,  sweete  Syr  Charles  ! why  wylt  thou  goe, 
Wythoute  thye  lovynge  wyfe ! 

The  cruelle  axe  thatt  cuttes  thye  necke, 

Ytte  eke  shall  ende  mye  lyfe.” 


BRISTOWE  TRAGEDIE. 


17 


LXI. 

And  nowe  the  officers  came  ynne 
To  brjnge  Sjr  Charles  awaie, 

\Yhoe  turnedd  toe  hys  lovynge  wyfe, 

And  thus  to  her  dydd  sale : 

LXII. 

^ I goe  to  lyfe,  and  nott  to  dethe  ; 

Truste  thou  ynne  Godde  above, 

And  teache  thye  sonnes  to  feare  the  Lorde, 

And  ynne  theyre  hertes  hym  love  : 

LXITI. 

“Teache  them  to  runne  the  nobile  race 
Thatt  I theyre  fader  runne  : 

Florence  ! shou’d  dethe  thee  take  — adieu  ! 

Yee  officers,  leade  onne.” 

LXIV. 

Thenne  Florence  rav’d  as  anie  madde. 

And  dydd  her  tresses  tere  ; 

“Oh  ! stale,  mye  husbande  ! lorde!  and  lyfe!” — 
Syr  Charles  thenne  dropt  a teare. 

LXV. 

’Tyll  tyredd  oute  wythe  ravynge  loud, 

Shee  fellen  onne  the  flore  ; 

Syr  Charles  exerted  alle  hys  myghte, 

And  march’d  fromme  oute  the  dore. 

2 


VOL.  IT. 


18 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


LXVI. 

Uponne  a sledde  hee  mounted  thenne, 

Wythe  lookes  fulle  brave  and  swete  ; 

Lookes,  thatt  enshone  ne  more  concern 
Thanne  anie  ynne  the  strete. 

Lxvir. 

Before  hym  went  the  council-menne, 

Ynne  scarlett  robes  and  golde, 

And  tassils  spanglynge  ynne  the  sunne, 
Muche  glorious  to  beholde  : 

LXVIII. 

The  Freers  of  Seincte  Augustyne  next 
Appeared  to  the  syghte, 

Alle  cladd  ynne  homelie  russett  weedes, 

Of  godlie  monkysh  plyghte  : 

LXIX. 

Ynne  diffraunt  partes  a godlie  psaume 
Moste  sweetlie  theye  dydd  chaunt ; 

Behynde  theyre  backes  syx  mynstrelles  came, 
Who  tun’d  the  strunge  bataunt. 

LXX, 

Thenne  fyve-and-twentye  archers  came ; 
Echone  the  bowe  dydd  bende, 

From  rescue  of  kynge  Henrie’s  friends 
Syr  Charles  forr  to  defend. 


BRISTOWE  TRAGEDIE. 


19 


LXXT. 

Bolde  as  a lyon  came  Syr  Charles, 

Drawne  onne  a clothe-layde  sledde, 

Bye  two  blacke  stedes  ynne  trappynges  white, 
Wyth  plumes  uponne  they  re  hedde  : 

LXXII. 

Behynde  hym  fyve-and-twentye  moe 
Of  archers  stronge  and  stoute, 

Wyth  bended  bo  we  echone  ynne  hande, 
Marched  ynne  goodlie  route : 

LXXIII. 

Seincte  Jameses  Freers  marched  next, 

Echone  hys  parte  dydd  chaunt ; 

Behynde  theyre  backes  syx  mynstrelles  came, 
Who  tun’d  the  strunge  bataunt : 

LXXIV. 

Thenne  came  the  maior  and  eldermenne, 

Ynne  clothe  of  scarlett  deck’t ; 

And  theyre  attendyng  menne  echone, 

Lyke  Easterne  princes  trickt 

LXXV. 

And  after  them,  a multitude 
Of  citizenns  dydd  thronge  ; 

The  wyndowes  were  alle  fuUe  of  heddes. 

As  hee  dydd  passe  alonge. 


20 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


LXXVI. 

And  whenne  liee  came  to  the  hjghe  crosse, 
Syr  Charles  dydd  turne  and  sale, 

“ 0 Thou,  thatt  savest  manne  fromme  sjnne, 
Washe  mje  soule  clean  thys  dale  ! ” 

LXXVII. 

At  the  grete  mynsterr  wyndowe  sat 
The  kynge  ynne  myckle  state, 

To  see  Charles  Bawdin  goe  alonge 
To  hys  most  welcom  fate. 

LXXVIII. 

Soone  as  the  sledde  drewe  nyghe  enowe, 
Thatt  Edwarde  hee  myghte  heare, 

The  brave  Syr  Charles  hee  dydd  stande  uppe 
And  thus  hys  wordes  declare : 

LXXIX. 

Thou  seest  mee,  Edwarde  ! traytour  vile  I 
Expos’d  to  infamie ; 

Butt  bee  assur’d,  disloyall  manne  ! 

I ’m  greaterr  nowe  thanne  thee. 

LXXX. 

Bye  foule  proceedyngs,  murdre,  bloude, 

Thou  wearest  nowe  a crowne  ; 

And  hast  appoynted  mee  to  dye, 

By  power  nott  thyne  owne. 


BRISTOWE  TRAGEDIE. 


21 


LXXXI. 

Thou  thynkest  I shall  dye  to-daie  ; 

I have  beene  dede  ’till  nowe, 

And  soone  shall  lyve  to  weare  a crowne 
For  aie  uponne  my  browe ; 

LXXXII. 

^ Whylst  thou,  perhapps,  for  som  few  yeares, 
Shalt  rule  thys  fickle  lande, 

To  lett  them  knowe  howe  wyde  the  rule 
’Twixt  kynge  and  tyrant  hande  : 

LXXXIII. 

“ Thye  pow’r  unjust,  thou  tray  tour  slave ! 
Shall  falle  onne  thye  owne  hedde  ” — 
Fromme  out  of  hearyng  of  the  kynge 
Departed  thenne  the  sledde. 

LXXXIV. 

Kynge  Edwarde’s  soule  rush’d  to  hys  face, 
Hee  turn’d  hys  hedde  awaie, 

And  to  hys  broder  Gloucester 
Hee  thus  dydd  speke  and  sale  : 

LXXXV. 

“ To  hym  that  soe-much-dreaded  dethe 
Ne  ghastlie  terrors  brynge, 

Beholde  the  manne  ! hee  spake  the  truthe, 
Hee’s  greater  thanne  a kynge  ! ” 


22 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


LXXXVI. 

**  Soe  lett  hym  die  ! ” Duke  Richard  sayde  ; 
And  maye  echone  oure  foes 

Bende  downe  theyre  neckes  to  bloudie  axe. 
And  feede  the  carryon  crowes.” 

LXXXVII. 

And  nowe  the  horses  gentlie  drewe 
Syr  Charles  uppe  the  hyghe  hylle  ; 

The  axe  dydd  glysterr  ynne  the  sunne, 

Hys  pretious  bloude  to  spylle. 

LXXXVIII. 

Syr  Charles  dydd  uppe  the  scaffold  goe, 

As  uppe  a gilded  carre 

Of  victory e,  bye  val’rous  chiefs 
Gayn’d  ynne  the  bloudie  warre  : 

LXXXIX. 

And  to  the  people  hee  dydd  sale, 

Beholde  you  see  mee  dye, 

For  servynge  loyally  mye  kynge, 

Mye  kynge  most  rightfuUie. 


xc. 

* As  long  as  Edwarde  rules  thys  lande, 

Ne  quiet  you  wylle  knowe  ; 

Youre  sonnes  and  husbandes  shalle  bee  slayne, 
And  brookes  wythe  bloude  shalle  flowe. 


BRISTOWE  TRAGEDIE. 


23 


XCI. 

You  leave  youre  goode  and  lawfulle  kynge, 
Wlienne  ynne  adversitye  ; 

Lyke  mee,  untoe  the  true  cause  stycke, 

And  for  the  true  cause  dye.” 

XCII. 

Thenne  hee,  wyth  preestes,  uponne  hys  knees, 
A pray’r  to  Godde  dydd  make, 

Beseechynge  hym  unto  hymselfe 
Hys  partynge  soule  to  take. 

XCIII. 

Thenne,  kneelynge  downe,  hee  layde  hys  hedde 
Most  seemlie  onne  the  blocke  ; 

Whyche  fromme  hys  bodie  fayre  at  once 
The  able  heddes-manne  stroke  ; 

xciv. 

And  oute  the  bloude  beganne  to  flowe. 

And  rounde  the  scaffolde  twyne  ; 

And  teares,  enowe  to  washe’t  awaie, 

Dydd  flow  fromme  each  mann’s  eyne. 

xcv. 

The  bloudie  axe  hys  bodie  fayre 
Ynnto  foure  parties  cutte  ; 

And  ev’rye  parte,  and  eke  hys  hedde, 

Uponne  a pole  was  putte. 


24 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


XCVI. 

One  parte  djdd  rotte  onne  Kynwulph-liylle, 
One  onne  the  mynster-tower, 

And  one  from  off  the  castle-gate 
The  crowen  dydd  devoure  ; 

XCVII. 

Tlfb  other  onne  Seyncte  Powle’s  goode  gate, 
A dreery  spectacle ; 

Hys  hedde  was  plac’d  onne  the  hyghe  crosse, 
Ynne  hyghe-streete  most  nobile. 

XCVIII. 

Thus  was  the  ende  of  Bawdin’s  fate : 

Godde  prosper  longe  oure  kynge, 

And  grante  hee  maye,  wyth  Bawdin’s  soule> 
Ynne  heav’n  Godd’s  mercie  synge  I 


^LLA, 


TRAGYCAL  ENTERLUDE, 

OB 

DISCOORSEYNGE  TRAGEDIE, 

WBOTENN  BIB 

THOMAS  ROWLEIE; 

PLAIEDD  BEFORE 

m:astre  canynge, 

ATTE  HTS  BOWSE  NEMPTE  THE  BODDE  BODOE; 


ALSOE  BEFORE  THE  DUKE  OP  NOEFOLCK, 

JOHAN  HOWARD. 


EPISTLE  TO  MASTRE  CANYNGE  ON 
iELLA. 


I. 

Tys  songe  bie  m3mstrelles,  thatte  jn  auntyent 
tym, 

WTian  Reasonn  hylt  herselfe  in  cloudes  of  nyghte, 

The  preeste  dely vered  alle  the  lege  yn  rhym  ; 

Lyche  peyncted  tyltynge-speares  to  please  the 
syghte, 

The  whych  yn  yttes  felle  use  doe  make  moke 
dere, 

Syke  dyd  theire  auncyante  lee  deftlie  delyghte  the 
eare. 

II. 

Perchaunce  yn  Vyrtues  gare  rhym  mote  bee 
thenne, 

Butte  efte  nowe  flyeth  to  the  odher  syde  ; 

In  hallie  preeste  apperes  the  ribaudes  penne, 

Inne  lithie  moncke  apperes  the  barronnes 
pryde : 

But  rhym  wythe  somme,  as  nedere  widhout 
teethe, 

Make  pleasaunce  to  the  sense,  botte  maie  do  lytte 
scathe. 


28 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


III. 

Syr  Joline,  a knyglite,  who  hath  a barne  of 
lore, 

Kenns  Latyn  att  fyrst  syghte  from  Frenche  or 
Greke  ; 

Pyghtethe  hys  knowlachynge  ten  yeres  or  more, 
To  rynge  upon  the  Latynne  worde  to  speke. 
AVhoever  spekethe  the  Englysch  ys  despysed, 
The  Englysch  hym  to  please  moste  fiyrste  be 
latynized. 

Vevyan  a moncke,  a good  requiem  synges  ; 

Can  preache  so  wele,  eche  hynde  hys  meneynge 
knowes ; 

Albeytte  these  gode  guyfts  awaie  he  flynges, 
Beeynge  as  badde  yn  vearse  as  goode  yn  prose. 
Hee  synges  of  seynctes  who  dyed  for  yer 
Godde, 

Everych  wynter  nyghte  afresche  he  sheddes  theyr 
blodde. 

V. 

To  maydens,  huswyfes,  and  unlored  dames, 
Hee  redes  hys  tales  of  merryment  and  woe. 
Loughe  loudlie  dynneth  from  the  dolte  adrames ; 
He  swelles  on  laudes  of  fooles,  tho’  kennes  hem 
soe, 

Sommetyme  at  tragedie  theie  laughe  and  synge, 
A.t  merrie  yaped  fage  somme  hard-drayned  water 
brynge. 


EPISTLE  TO  MASTRE  CANYNGE. 


29 


VI. 

Yette  Yevyan  ys  ne  foole,  beyinde  hys  lynes. 

Geofroie  makes  vearse,  as  handy craftes  theyr 
ware, 

Wordes  wythoute  sense  full  groffyngelye  he 
twynes, 

Cotteynge  hys  storie  off  as  wythe  a sheere  ; 

Waytes^  monthes  on  nothynge,  and  hys  storie 
donne, 

Ne  moe  you  from  ytte  kenn,  than  gyf  you  neere 
begonne. 

VII. 

Enowe  of  odhers  ; of  mieselfe  to  write, 

Requyrynge  whatt  I doe  notte  nowe  possess. 

To  you  I leave  the  taske ; I kenne  your  myghte 

Wyll  make  mie  faultes,  mie  meynte  of  faultes, 
be  less. 

JEWa  wythe  thys  I sende,  and  hope  that  you 
W^ylle  from  ytte  cast  awaie,  whatte  lynes  male  be 
untrue. 

VIII. 

Playes  made. from  hallie  tales  I holde  un- 
meete ; 

Lette  somme  greate  storie  of  a manne  be 
songe ; 

Whanne,  as  a manne,  we  Godde  and  Jesus 
treate, 


’ Qu.  * waystes  ? * 


30 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


In  mie  pore  mynde,  we  do  the  Godhedde 
wronge. 

Botte  lette  ne  wordes,  whyche  droorie  mote  ne 
heare, 

Bee  placed  yn  the  same.  Adieu  untylle  anere. 

TnoMAs  Rowleie. 


LETTER  TO  THE  DYGNE  MASTRE 
CANYNGEJ 


I. 

Straunge  dome  ytte  ys,  that,  yn  these  dales  of 
cures, 

Nete  butte  a bare  recytalle  can  hav  place ; 

No  we  shapelie  poesie  hath  loste  yttes  powers, 
And  pynant  hystorie  ys  onlie  grace  ; 

Heie  pycke  up  wolsome  weedes,  ynstedde  of 
flowers, 

And  famylies,  ynstedde  of  wytte,  theie  trace ; 
Nowe  poesie  canne  meete  wythe  ne  regrate, 
Whylste  prose,  and  herehaughtrie,  ryse  yn  estate. 

^ There  can  be  no  doubt  concerning  the  existence  of  Master 
Canynge,  since  it  is  attested  by  such  a number  of  contem- 
porary historians,  and  his  remains  lie  interred  in  the  church 
of  which  he  was  the  founder.  He  was  the  younger  son  of  a 
citizen  of  Bristol,  and  in  his  youth  afforded  early  prognostics 
of  wisdom  and  ability.  He  was  a handsome  person,  and 
married  for  love  without  a fortune.  Of  his  native  city  he 
was  mayor  five  times;  and  in  the  year  1461,  when  Sir  Bald- 
win Fulford  was  executed  for  treason,  Canynge  pleaded  for 
Him  in  vain.  Among  the  proofs  of  his  munificence  there 
still  exist  an  almshouse  or  hospital,  with  a ‘tjhapel,  and  the 
beautiful  church  of  St.  Mary  Kedcliffe,  in  Bristol. — Db. 
Gregory. 


32 


ROWLET  POEMS. 


II. 

Leite  kynges,  and  rulers,  whan  heie  gayne  a 
throne, 

Shew  whatt  theyre  grandsieres,  and  great  grand- 
sieres  bore, 

Emarschalled  armes,  yatte,  ne  before  theyre 
owne. 

Now  raung’d  wythe  whatt  yeir  fadres  han  before  ; 

Lette  trades,  and  toune  folck,  lett  syke  thynges 
alone, 

Ne  fyghte  for  sable  yn  a fielde  of  aure  ; 

Seldomm,  or  never,  are  armes  vyrtues  mede, 

Shee  nillynge  to  take  myckle  aie  dothe  hede. 

III. 

A man  ascaunse  uponn  a piece  maye  looke. 

And  shake  hys  hedde  to  styre  hys  rede  aboute ; 

Quod  he,  gyf  I askaunted  oere  thys  booke, 

Schulde  fynde  thereyn  that  trouthe  ys  left  wyth- 
oute ; 

Eke,  gyf  unto  a view  percase  I tooke 

The  long  beade-rolle  of  al  the  wrytynge  route, 

Asserius,  Ingolphus,  Torgotte,  Bedde, 

Thorow  hem  al  nete  lyche  ytte  I coulde  rede. — 


IV. 

Pardon,  yee  Graiebarbes,  gyff  I sale,  onwise 
Tee  are  to  stycke  so  close  and  bysmarelie 
To  hystorie ; you  doe  ytte  tooe  moche  pryze. 


LETTER  TO  MASTRE  CANYNGE. 


33 


Wliyche  amenused  thoughtes  of  poesie  ; 

Somme  drjbblette  share  you  shoulde  to  yatte 
alyse, 

Nott  makynge  every  che  thynge  bee  by  stone ; 
Instedde  of  mountynge  onn  a wynged  horse, 

You  onn  a rouncy  dryve  ynn  dolefull  course. 


V. 

Canynge  and  I from  common  course  dys sente ; 

Wee  ryde  the  stede,  botte  yev  to  hym  the  reene  ; 

Ne  wylle  betweene  erased  molterynge  bookes 
bepente, 

Botte  soare  on  hyghe,  and  yn  the  sonne-bemes 
sheene ; 

And  where  wee  kenn  somme  ishad  floures  be- 
sprente, 

We  take  ytte,  and  from  oulde  rouste  doe  ytte 
dene ; 

Wee  wylle  ne  cheynedd  to  one  pasture  bee, 

Botte  sometymes  soare  ’bove  trouthe  of  hystorie. 


VI. 

Sale,  Canynge,  whatt  was  vearse  yn  dales  of  yore  ? 
Fyne  thoughtes,  and  couplettes  fetyvelie  bewryen, 
Notte  syke  as  doe  annoie  thys  age  so  sore, 

A keppened  poyntelle  restynge  at  eche  lyne. 
Vearse  male  be  goode,  botte  poesie  wantes  more, 
An  onlist  lecturn,  and  a songe  adygne ; 
Accordynge  to  the  rule  I have  thys  wroughte, 
Gyff  ytt  please  Canynge,  I care  notte  a groate. 
VOL.  II.  3 


34 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


VII. 

The  thynge  ytts  moste  bee  yttes  owne  defense ; 
Som  metre  male  notte  please  a womannes  ear. 
Canynge  lookes  notte  for  poesie,  botte  sense ; 
And  dygne,  and  wordie  thoughtes,  ys  all  hys  care 
Canynge,  adieu  ! I do  you  greete  from  hence  ; 
Full  soone  I hope  to  taste  of  your  good  cheere : 
Goode  By  shoppe  Carpynter  dyd  byd  mee  saie, 
He  wysche  you  healthe  and  selinesse  for  aie. 

T.  Rowleie. 


ENTRODUCTIONNE. 


I 

Somme  cherisaunei  ^ ’tys  to  gentle  mynde, 

Whan  theie  have  chevyced  theyre  londe  from 
bayne, 

Whan  theie  ar  dedd,  theie  leave  yer  name 
behynde, 

And  theyre  goode  deedes  doe  on  the  earthe  re- 
mayne  ; 

Downe  yn  the  grave  wee  ynhyme  everych  steyne, 

Whylest  al  her  gentlenesse  ys  made  to  sheene, 

Lyche  fetyve  baubels  geasonne  to  be  seene. 


II. 

JElla,  the  wardenne  of  thys  castell  stede, 

Whylest  Saxons  dyd  the  Englysche  sceptre  swaie, 
Wlio  made  whole  troopes  of  Dacyan  men  to  blede, 
Then  seel’d  hys  eyne,  and  seeled  hys  eyne  for  aie, 
Wee  rowze  hym  uppe  before  the  judgment  dale. 
To  sale  what  he,  as  clergyond,  can  kenne, 

And  howe  hee  sojourned  in  the  vale  of  men. 

1 ‘ Comfort.’  Chatterton.  — The  proper  word  is  ‘ cheri- 
saunce.’  But  in  Kersey’s  Dictionary,  a book  which  is  known 
to  have  been  frequently  in  the  hands  of  Chatterton,  through 
some  error  of  the  printer,  it  is  spelt  as  we  have  it  in  the  text. 
This  is  by  no  means  the  only  instance  in  which  Chatterton 
in  searching  for  obsolete  words,  has  ignorantly  copied  the 
mistakes  of  his  authorities. 


iELL  A. 


PERSONNES  REPRESENTEDD. 

^LLA,  bie  Thomas  Rowleie,  Preeste,  the  Aucthcura 
Celmoxde,  Johan  Isoamm,  Preeste. 

Hukua,  Syrr  Thybbotte  Gorges,  Knyghte. 

PlRTHA,  MasTRE  EdwARDE  CaNYNGE. 

Odherr  Parties  bie  Knyghtes,  Mynstrelles,  &c. 


CELMONDE,  {att  Bristowe,) 

Before  yonne  roddie  sonne  has  droove  hia 
wayne 

Throwe  half  his  joornie,  dyghte  yn  gites  of 
goulde, 

Mee,  happeless  me,  hee  wylle  a wretche  be- 
houlde, 

Mieselfe,  and  al  that ’s  myne,  bounde  ynne  mys- 
chaimces  chayne. 

Ah  ! Birtha,  whie  did  Nature  frame  thee  fayre  ? 

Whie  art  thou  all  thatt  poyntelle  canne 
bewreene  ? 

Whie  art  thou  nott  as  coarse  as  odhers  are  ? — 

Botte  thenn  thie  soughle  woulde  throwe  thy 
vysage  sheene, 

Yatt  shemres  on  thie  comelie  semlykeene, 


^LLA. 


37 


Lyche  nottebrowne  cloudes,  whann  bie  tbe  sonne 
made  redde, 

Orr  scarlette,  wjth  waylde  lynnen  clothe 
ywreene, 

Syke  would  thie  spryte  upponn  thie  vysage 
spredde. 

Thys  dale  brave  JElla  dothe  tliyne  honde  and 
harte 

Clayme  as  hys  owne  to  be,  whyche  nee  fromm  hyg 
moste  parte. 

And  cann  1 lyve  to  see  herr  wythe  anere ! 

Ytt  cannotte,  muste  notte,  naie,  ytt  shalle  not 
bee. 

Thys  nyghte  111  putte  stronge  poysonn  ynn  the 
beere, 

And  hymm,  herr,  and  myselfe,  attenes  wyll 
slea. 

Assyst  mee,  Helle ! lett  Devylles  rounde  mee 
tende, 

To  slea  mieselfe,  mie  love,  and  eke  mio  doughtie 
friende. 


-3ELLA,  BIRTHA. 
iELLA. 

Notte,  whanne  the  hallie  prieste  dyd  make  me 
knyghte, 

Blessynge  the  weaponne,  tellynge  future  dede, 
Howe  bie  mic  honde  the  prevyd  Dane  shoulde 
blede, 


38 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Howe  I sclmlde  often  bee,  and  often  wjnne,  ynn 
fyghte  ; 

Notte,  whann  I fjrste  behelde  thie  beauteous 
hue, 

Whjche  strooke  mie  mynde,  and  rouzed  my 
softer  soule  ; 

Nott,  whann  from  the  barbed  horse  yn  fyghte 
dyd  vie  we 

The  flying  Dacians  oere  the  wyde  playne  roule. 

Whan  all  the  troopes  of  Denmarque  made  grete 
dole, 

Dydd  I fele  joie  wyth  syke  reddoure  as  no  we, 

Whann  hallie  preest,  the  lechemanne  of  the 
soule, 

Dydd  knytte  us  both  ynn  a caytysnede^  vowe  : 

Now  hallie  JElla’s  selynesse  ys  grate  ; 

Shap^  haveth  nowe  ymade  hys  woes  for  to  em- 
mate. 

1 ‘ Caytysnede,’  properly  a participle,  and  not  an  adjective, 
as  it  is  here  used  by  Chatterton. 

In  Chaucer’s  translation  of  Boethius,  we  find  it  in  the  sense 
of  ‘ separated  by  imprisonment;’  or,  if  derived,  as  Skinner 
thinks,  from  the  Latin  catenatus^  ‘ chained,’  ‘ tied  up.’  “ Thus 
witlesse,  thoughtfull,  sightlesse  lokynge,  I endure  my  pen- 
aunce  in  this  derke  prisonne  caitisned  fro  frendshippe  and  ac- 
quaintaunce.”  In  line  1103  of  this  ti'agedy,  we  find  it  again 
in  the  sense  of  ‘ being  taken  captive.’  Its  signification  in 
Bailey  (Chatterton’s  probable  authority)  is  ‘ chained,’  ‘bound 
with  chains.’  His  own  interpretation  of  the  word  in  the  pas- 
sage before  us  is  ‘ enforcing.’  ‘ Caytysnede  vowe,’  a vow  that 
may  not  be  broken. 

2 ‘ Shap,’  fate.  Bailey  and  Kersey ; not  found  in  Chaucer, 
w other  old  writers.  In  the  translation  of  the  iEneid,  by 


^LLA. 


39 


BIRTHA. 

Mie  lorde,  and  husbande,  syke  a joie  is  niyne  ; 
Botte  mayden  modestie  moste  ne  soe  sale, 
Albeytte  thou  mayest  rede  ytt  ynn  myne  eyne 
Or  ynn  myne  barte,  where  thou  shalte  be  for 
aie  ; 

Inne  sothe,  I have  botte  needed  oute  thie  faie  ; 
For  twelve  tymes  twelve  the  mone  hath  bin 
yblente, 

As  manie  tymes  hathe  vyed  the  Godde  of  daie, 
And  on  the  grasse  her  lemes  of  sylverr  sente, 
Sythe  thou  dydst  cheese  mee  for  thie  swote  to 
bee, 

bmactynge  ynn  the  same  moste  faiefullie  to  mee. 

Ofte  have  I seene  thee  atte  the  none-daie  feaste, 
Whanne  deysde  bie  thieselfe,  for  wante  of 
pheeres, 

Awhylst  thie  merryemen  dydde  laughe  and 
jeaste, 

Onn  mee  thou  semest  all  eyne,  to  mee  all  eares. 
Thou  wardest  mee  as  gyff  ynn  hundred  feeres, 
Alest  a daygnous  looke  to  thee  be  sente, 

And  offrendes  made  mee,  moe  thann  yie  com 
pheeres, 


Gawin  Douglas,  * fate  ’ is  rendered  by  ‘ werdis  schap,*  where 
it  does  not  signify  ‘ fate,’  but  the  shaping  or  disposition  of  the 
fates.  Kersey,  who  is  often  a blunderer,  in  his  misapprehei> 
^ion  of  Skinner,  affixed  to  it  the  meaning  of  ‘ fate,’  ‘ destiny 
and  this  error  was  copied  by  Chatterton. 


iO 


KOWLET  POEMS. 


Offe  scarpes  of  scarlette,  and  fyne  paramente  ; 
All  thie  yntente  to  please  was  lyssed  to  mee, 

I sale  ytt,  I moste  strove  thatt  you  ameded  bee. 


iELLA. 

IVIie  lyttel  kyndnesses  whyche  I dydd  doe, 

Thie  gentleness  doth  corven  them  soe  grete, 

Lyche  bawsyn  olyphauntes  mie  gnattes  doe 
shewe  ; 

Thou  doest  mie  thoughtes  of  paying  love 
amate. 

Botte  hann  mie  actyonns  straughte  the  rolle  of 
fate, 

Pyghtc  thee  fromm  hell,  or  brought  heaven 
down  to  thee, 

Layde  the  whol  worlde  a falldstole  atte  thie 
feete, 

One  smyle  would  be  suffycyll  mede  for  mee. 

I amm  loves  borro’r,  and  canne  never  paie, 

Bott  be  hys  borrower  stylle,  and  thyne,  mie  swete, 
for  aie. 


BIRTHA. 

Love,  doe  notte  rate  your  achevments  soe 
smalle  ; 

As  I to  you,  syke  love  untoe  mee  beare  ; 

For  nothynge  paste  will  Birtha  ever  call, 

Ne  on  a foode  from  heaven  thynke  to  cheere. 
As  farr  as  thys  frayle  brutylle  flesch  wylle 
spere. 


^LLA. 


41 


Syke,  and  ne  fardher  I expecte  of  you ; 

Be  notte  toe  slack  in  love,  ne  overdeare ; 

A smalle  fyre,  yan  a loud  flame,  proves  more 
true. 


^LLA. 

Thie  gentle  wordis  toe  tliie  volunde  kenne 
To  bee  moe  clergionde  thann  ys  ynn  meyncte  of 
menne. 


-®LLA,  BIRTHA,  CELMONDE,  MYNSTRELLES. 

CELMONDE. 

Alle  blessynges  showre  on  gentle  Ella’s  hedde ! 

Oft  maie  the  moone,  yn  sylverr  slieenynge 
lyghte, 

Inne  varied  chaunges  varyed  blessynges  shedde, 

Besprengeynge  far  abrode  mischaunces  nyghte ; 

And  thou,  fayre  Birtha ! thou,  fayre  dame,  so 
bryghte, 

Long  mayest  thou  wyth  JElla  fynde  muche 
peace, 

Wythe  selynesse  as  wyth  a roabe,  be  dyghte, 

Wyth  everych  chaungynge  mone  new  joies  en- 
crease ! 

I,  as  a token  of  mie  love  to  speake. 

Have  brought  you  jubbes  of  ale,  at  nyghte  you  re 
brayne  to  breake. 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


i2 


^LLA. 

Whan  sopperes  paste  we  ’Ue  drenche  yonre  ale 
soe  stronge, 

Tyde  lyfe,  tyde  death. 

CELMONDE. 

Ye  mynstrelles,  chaunt  your  songe ! 
Mynstrelles  Songe,  hie  a Manne  and  Womanne, 

MANNE. 

Tourne  thee  to  thie  Shepsterr  swayne ; 
Bryghte  sonne  has  ne  droncke  the  dewe 
From  the  floures  of  yellowe  hue  ; 

Tourne  thee,  Alyce,  backe  agayne. 

WOMANNE. 

No,  bestoikerre  I wylle  go, 

Softlie  tryppynge  o’ere  the  mees, 

Lyche  the  sylver-footed  doe, 

Seekeynge  shelterr  yn  grene  trees. 

MANNE. 

See  the  moss-growne  daisey’d  banke, 
Pereynge  ynne  the  streme  belowe  ; 

Here  we’lle  sytte,  yn  dewie  danke ; 
Tourne  thee,  Alyce,  do  notte  goe. 


^LLA. 


43 


WOMANNE. 

TVe  hearde  erste  mie  grandarae  sale, 

Yonge  damoyselles  schulde  ne  bee, 

Inne  the  swotie  moonthe  of  Maie, 

Wythe  yonge  menne  hie  the  grene  wode  tree. 

MANNE. 

Sytte  thee,  Alyce,  sytte,  and  harke, 

Howe  the  ouzle  chauntes  hys  noate, 

The  chelandree,  greie  morn  larke, 
Chauntynge  from  theyre  lyttel  throate. 


WOMANNE. 

I heare  them  from  eche  grene  wode  tree, 
Chauntynge  owte  so  blatauntlie, 

Tellynge  lecturnyes  to  mee, 

Myscheefe  ys  whanne  you  are  nygh. 


MANNE. 

See  alonge  the  mees  so  grene 
Pied  daisies,  kynge-coppes  swote ; 

Alle  wee  see,  bie  non  bee  seene, 

Nete  botte  shepe  settes  here  a fote. 

WOMANNE. 

Shepster  swayne,  you  tare  mie  gratche, 
Oute  uponne  ye  ! lette  me  goe. 

Leave  mee  swythe,  or  I’Ue  alatche. 
Robynne,  thys  youre  dame  shall  knowe. 


44 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


MANNE. 

See  ! the  crokynge  brionie 
Rounde  the  popler  twyste  hys  spraie ; 
Rounde  the  oake  the  greene  ivie 
Florryschethe  and  lyveth  aie. 

Lette  us  seate  us  bie  thys  tree, 

Laughe,  and  synge  to  lovynge  ayres ; 
Comme,  and  doe  notte  coyen  bee ; 
Nature  made  all  thynges  bie  pay  res. 
Drooried  cattes  wylle  after  kynde ; 
Gentle  doves  wylle  kyss  and  coe. 

wo  MANNE. 

Botte  manne,  hee  moste  bee  ywrynde, 
Tylle  syr  preeste  make  one  of  two. 
Tempte  mee  ne  to  the  foule  thynge  ; 

I wylle  no  mannes  lemanne  be  ; 

Tyll  syr  preeste  hys  songe  doethe  syngs 
Thou  shalt  neere  fynde  aught  of  mee. 

MANNE. 

Bie  oure  ladie  her  yborne, 

To-morrowe,  soone  as  ytte  ys  daie, 

I’ll  make  thee  wyfe,  ne  bee  forsworne^ 
So  tyde  me  lyfe  or  dethe  for  aie. 

WOMANNE. 

Wliatt  dothe  lette,  botte  thatte  nowe 
Wee  attenes,  thos  honde  yn  honde, 


iELLA. 


45 


Unto  divinistre  goe, 

And  bee  lyncked  jn  wedlocke  bonde  ? 

MANNK. 

I agree,  and  thus  I plyglite 

Honde,  and  harte,  and  all  that’s  myne  ; 

Goode  syr  Rogerr,  do  us  ryghte, 

Make  us  one,  at  Cothbertes  sliryne. 

BOTHE. 

Wee  wylle  ynn  a bordelle  lyve, 

Hailie,  tlioughe  of  no  estate  ; 

Everyche  clocke  moe  love  shall  gyve  ; 
Wee  ynn  godenesse  wylle  bee  greate. 

iELLA.. 

1 lyche  thys  songe,  I lyche  ytt  myckle  well ; 
And  there  ys  monie  for  yer  syngeyne  nowe  ; 
Butte  have  you  noone  thatt  marriage-blessynges 
telle  ? 


CELMONDE. 

In  marriage,  blessynges  are  botte  fewe,  I trowe. 

MYNSTRELLES. 

Laverde,  we  have  ; and,  g)^  you  please,  wille 
synge. 

As  well  as  owre  choughe-voyces  wylle  permytte. 


46 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


iELLA. 

Comme  then,  and  see  you  swotelie  tune  the 
strynge, 

And  stret,  and  engyne  all  the  human  wytte, 
Toe  please  mie  dame. 

MYNSTRELLES. 

We’Ue  strayne  owre  wytte  and  synge, 
Mynstrelles  Songe. 

FYRSTE  MYNSTRELLE. 

The  boddynge  flourettes  bloshes  atte  the  lyghte 
The  mees  be  sprenged  wyth  the  yellowe  hue  ; 
Ynn  daiseyd  mantels  ys  the  mountayne  dyghte ; 
The  nesh  yonge  coweslepe  bendethe  wyth  the 
dewe ; 

The  trees  enlefed,  yntoe  heavenne  straughte, 
Whenn  gentle  wyndes  doe  blowe,  to  whestlyng 
dynne  ys  broughte. 

The  evenynge  commes,  and  brynges  the  dewe 
alonge ; 

The  roddie  welkynne  sheeneth  to  the  eyne ; 
Arounde  the  ales  take  mynstrelles  synge  the 
songe ; 

Yonge  ivie  rounde  the  doore  poste  do  entwyne 
I laie  mee  onn  the  grasse  ; yette,  to  mie  wylle, 
Mbeytte  alle  ys  fayre,  there  lackethe  somethynge 
stylle. 


^LLA. 


47 


SECONDE  MYNSTRELLE. 

So  Adam  thoughtenne,  whann,  ynn  Paradyse, 
All  heavenn  and  erthe  dyd  hommage  to  hys 
mynde  ; 

Ynn  womman  alleyne  mannes  pleasaunce  lyes ; 
As  instrumentes  of  joie  were  made  the  kynde. 
Go,  take  a wyfe  untoe  thie  armes,  and  see 
W'ynter,  and  brownie  hylles,  wyll  have  a charme 
for  thee. 

THYRDE  MYNSTRELLE. 

Whanne  Autumpne  blake  and  sonne-brente  doe 
appere, 

Wyth  hys  goulde  honde  guylteynge  the  fall- 
eynge  lefe, 

Bryn  gey  nge  oppe  Wynterr  to  folfylle  the  yere, 
Beerynge  uponne  hys  backe  the  riped  shefe ; 
Whan  al  the  hyls  wythe  woddie  sede  ys  whyte  ; 
Whanne  levynne-fyres  and  lemes  do  mete  from 
far  the  syghte  ; 

Whann  the  fayre  apple,  rudde  as  even  skie, 

Do  bende  the  tree  unto  the  fructyle  grounde ; 
When  joicie  peres,  and  berries  of  blacke  die. 
Doe  daunce  yn  ayre,  and  call  the  eyne  arounde  ; 
Thann,  bee  the  even  foule,  or  even  fayre, 
Meethynckes  mie  hartys  joie  ys  steynced  wyth 
somme  care. 


48 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


SECONDE  MYNSTRELLE. 

Angelles  bee  wrogte  to  bee  of  neidlier  kynde ; 
Angelles  allejne  fromme  chafe  desyre  bee  free : 
Dheere  ys  a somwhatte  evere  yn  the  mynde, 
Yatte,  wythout  wommanne,  cannot  sty  lied  bee ; 
Ne  seyncte  yn  celles,  botte,  havynge  blodde  and 
tere, 

Do  fynde  the  spryte  to  joie  on  syghte  of  wom- 
manne fayre : 

Wommen  bee  made,  notte  for  hemselves  botte 
manne, 

Bone  of  hys  bone,  and  chyld  of  hys  desire ; 
Fromme  an  ynutylle  membere  fyrste  beganne, 
Ywroghte  with  moche  of  water,  lyttele  fyre  ; 
Therefore  theie  seke  the  fyre  of  love,  to  hete 
The  milkyness  of  kynde,  and  make  hemselves 
complete. 

Albeytte,  wythout  wommen,  menne  were 
pheeres 

To  salvage  kynde,  and  wulde  botte  lyve  to  slea. 
Botte  wommenne  efte  the  spryghte  of  peace  so 
chores, 

Tochelod  yn  Angel  joie  heie  Angeles  bee ; 

Go,  take  thee  swythyn  to  thie  bedde  a wyfe, 
Bee  bante  or  blessed  hie  yn  proovynge  marryage 
lyfe. 


^LLA. 


49 


Anodlier  Mynstrelles  Songe  hie  Syr  Thyhhot  Gorges* 
As  EljTiour  bie  the  green  lesselle  was  syttynge, 

As  from  the  sones  hete  she  harried, 

She  sayde,  as  herr  whytte  hondes  whyte  hosen 
was  knyttynge, 

Whatte  pleasure  ytt  ys  to  be  married  ! ^ 

iFrom  the  sublime  irregularity  of  the  Pindaric  and  the 
stately  solemnity  of  the  Rithme  royal,  our  author  sometimes 
descends  to  sport  in  lighter  strains.  The  desultory  genius  of 
Rowley  disdained  the  dull  identity,  not  only  of  a beaten,  but 
of  a common  track. 

In  the  ‘ Tragedy  of  Ella,*  we  have  an  ode,  of  which  this  is 
one  of  the  stanzas ; — 

“ Mie  husbande,  lorde  Thomas,  a forrester  boulde, 

As  every  clove  pynne,  or  the  baskette. 

Does  no  cherysauncys  from  Elynoure  houlde, 

I have  ytte  as  soon  as  I aske  ytte.” 

In  Durfey’s  ‘ Pills  to  purge  Melancholy,’  or  some  other  book 
of  Pills  for  the  same  salutary  purpose,  I remember  an  old 
Somersetshire  ballad,  yet  certainly  not  older  than  the  latter 
end  of  the  last  century,  which  exhibits,  I believe  for  the  first 
time,  the  same  structure  of  stanza. 

“ Go  find  out  the  vicar  of  Taunton  Dean, 

And  he’ll  tell  you  the  banns  they  were  asked, 

A thumping  fat  capon  he  had  for  his  pains. 

And  I skewer’d  her  up  in  a basket.” 

The  old  Chaucerian  word  ‘ cherisauncey,’  in  Chatterton’s 
stanza,  never  danced  so  gayly  before.  But  it  is  not  so  much 
to  the  movement,  as  to  the  double  rhymes,  that  I here 
object. 

There  are,  I confess,  some  double  rhj^mes  in  Chaucer’s  ‘ Ro- 
mant  of  the  Rose,’  but  they  are  accidental,  and  they  were 
suggested  by  correspondent  French  words  and  couplets  in 
the  French  original.  In  our  present  instance,  the  double 
VOL  IT.  4 


50 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Mie  husbande,  Lorde  Thomas,  a forrester  boulde, 
As  ever  clove  pjnne,  or  the  baskette, 

Does  no  cherysauncys  from  Elynour  houlde, 

I have  ytte  as  soone  as  I aske  ytte. 

Whann  I lyved  wyth  my  fadre  yn  merrie  Cloud- 
dell, 

Tho’  twas  at  my  liefe  to  mynde  spynnynge, 

I stylle  wanted  somethynge,  botte  whatte  ne  coulde 
telle, 

Mie  lorde  fadres  barbde  ^ haulle  han  ne  wynn- 
ynge. 

Eche  mornynge  I ryse,  doe  I sette  mie  maydennes, 
Somme  to  spynn,  somme  to  curdell,  somme 
bleachynge, 

Gyff  any  new  entered  doe  aske  for  mie  aidens, 
Thann  swythynne  you  fynde  mee  a teachynge. 


rhyme  is  constitutive  of  a peculiar  conformation  of  stanza, 
of  which  it  is  one  of  the  essential  properties.  An  ode  was  to 
be  written  with  a regular  and  imposed  return  of  this  dupli- 
cation. To  say  nothing  in  the  mean  time,  that  Chatterton 
took,  perhaps  imperceptibly,  the  two  words  here  employed 
for  double  rhymes,  from  the  ballad  I have  cited.  The  double 
ihyme  is  now  adapted  to  the  comic  and  familiar  style;  and 
the  unexpected  consonancy  often  gives  an  air  of  burlesque. 
Not  one  example  occurs  in  Chaucer’s  burlesque  poem  of  Sir 
Thopas.  Nor  was  it  scarcely  ever  used  under  any  circum* 
stances  by  the  elder  poets,  except  in  translation. — Waeton. 

1 The  word  ‘ barbde  ’ is  peculiarly  appropriated  to  horses, 
and  therefore  misapplied  here. — Southey.  Its  meaning  in 
the  text  is,  “ Hung  with  armour.” 


^LLA. 


51 


Lorde  Walterre,  mie  fadre,  he  loved  me  welle, 
And  nothynge  unto  mee  was  nedeynge, 

Botte  schulde  I agen  goe  to  merrie  Cloud-dell, 

In  sothen  twoulde  bee  wythoute  redeynge. 

Shee  sayde,  and  lorde  Thomas  came  over  the  lea, 
As  hee  the  fatte  derkynnes  was  chacynge, 

Shee  putte  uppe  her  knyttynge,  and  to  hym  wente 
shee ; 

So  wee  leave  hem  bothe  kyndelie  embracynge. 

^LLA. 

1 lyche  eke  thys  ; goe  ynn  untoe  the  feaste ; 
Wee  wylle  permytte  you  antecedente  bee ; 
There  swotelie  synge  eche  carolle,  and  yaped 
jeaste ; 

And  there  ys  monnie,  that  you  merrie  bee  ; 
Comme,  gentle  love,  wee  wylle  toe  spouse-feaste 
goe, 

And  there  ynn  ale  and  wyne  bee  dreyncted 
everych  woe. 


JELLA,  BIRTHA,  CELMONDE,  MESSENGERE. 
MESSENGERE. 

JElla,  the  Danes  ar  thondrynge  onn  our  coaste  ; 
Lyche  scolles  of  locusts,  caste  oppe  bie  the  sea, 
Magnus  and  Hurra,  wythe  a doughtie  hoaste. 
Are  ragyng,  to  be  quansed  bie  none  botte  tbee  ; 


52 


ROWLEY  rOEMS. 


Haste,  swyfte  as  Levynne  to  these  royners  flee : 
Thie  dogges  alleyne  can  tame  thjs  ragynge 
bulle. 

Haste  swythyn,  fore  anieglie  the  towne  theie 
bee, 

And  Wedecesterres  rolle  of  dome  bee  fulle. 
Haste,  haste,  O ^lla,  to  the  byker  flie, 

For  yn  a momentes  space  tenne  thousand  menne 
maie  die. 

iELLA. 

Beshrew  thee  for  thie  newes  ! I moste  be  gon. 
Was  ever  lockless  dome  so  hard  as  myne ! 

Thos  from  dysportysmente  to  warr  to  ron, 

To  chaunge  the  selke  veste  for  the  gaberdyne  ! 

BIRTHA. 

O ! lyche  a nedere,  lette  me  rounde  thee  twyne, 
And  hylte  thie  boddie  from  the  schaftes  of 
warre. 

Thou  shake  nott,  must  not,  from  thie  Birtha 
ryne, 

Botte  kenn  the  dynne  of  slughornes  from  afarre. 

ASLLA. 

O love,  was  thys  thie  joie,  to  shewe  the  treate, 
Than  groffyshe  to  forbydde  thie  hongered  guestes 
to  eate  ? 

O mie  upswalynge  harte,  whatt  wordes  can 


sale 


^LLA. 


53 


The  peynes,  thatte  passethe  ynn  mie  soule 
ybrente  ? 

Thos  to  bee  tome  uponne  mie  spousalle  daie, 

O ! ’tys  a peyne  beyond  entendemente. 

Yee  mychtie  Goddes,  and  is  yor  favoures 
sente 

As  thous  faste  dented  to  a loade  of  peyne  ? 

Moste  wee  aie  holde  yn  chace  the  shade 
content, 

And  for  a bodykyn  a swarthe  obteyne  ? 

O ! whie,  yee  seynctes,  oppress  yee  thos  mie 
sowle  ? 

How  shalle  I speke  mie  woe,  mie  freme,  mie 
dreerie  dole  ? 


CELMONDE. 

Sometyme  the  wyseste  lacketh  pore  mans  rede. 

Reasonne  and  counynge  wytte  efte  flees  awaie. 

Thanne,  loverde  lett  me  saie,  wyth  hommaged 
drede, 

(Bienth  your  fote  ylayn)  mie  counselle  saie ; 

Gyff  thos  wee  lett  the  matter  lethlen  laie. 

The  foemenn,  everych  honde-poyncte,  getteth 
fote. 

Mie  loverde,  lett  the  speere-menne,  dyghte  for 
fraie. 

And  all  the  sabbataners  goe  aboute. 

I speke,  mie  loverde,  alley ne  to  upryse 
Youre  wytte  from  marvelle,  and  the  warriour  to 
alyse. 


54 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


^LLA. 

Ah  ! nowe  thou  pottest  takells  jn  mie  harte  ; 
Mie  soulghe  do  the  nowe  begynne  to  see  her- 
selle ; 

I wylle  upryse  mie  myghte,  and  doe  mie  parte. 
To  slea  the  foemenne  yn  mie  furie  felle. 

Botte  howe  canne  tynge  mie  rampynge  fourie 
telle, 

Whyche  ryseth  from  mie  love  to  Birth  a fayre  ? 
Ne  coulde  the  queede,  and  alle  the  myghte  of 
Helle, 

Founde  out  impleasaunce  of  syke  blacke  ageare. 
Tette  I wylle  bee  mieselfe,  and  rouze  mie  spryte 
1 I acte  wythe  rennome,  and  goe  meet  the  bloddie 
fyghte. 

BIRTHA. 

No,  thou  schalte  never  leave  thie  Birtha’s  syde  ; 
Ne  schall  the  wynde  uponne  us  bio  we  alleyne  ; 
I,  lyche  a nedre,  wylle  untoe  thee  byde  ; 

Tyde  lyfe,  tyde  deathe,  ytte  shall  behoulde  us 
twayne. 

[ have  mie  parte  of  dreerie  dole  and  peyne ; 
Itte  brasteth  from  mee  atte  the  holtred  eyne  ; 
Ynne  tydes  of  teares  mie  swarthynge  spryte 
wyll  drayne, 

Gyff  drerie  dole  ys  thyne,  tys  twa  tymes  myne. 
Groe  notte,  0 ^lla  ; wythe  thie  Birtha  staie ; 
Pur  wyth  thie  semmlykeed  mie  spryte  wyll  goe 
awaie. 


JELLA. 


55 


iELLA. 

0 ! tys  for  thee,  for  thee  alleyne  I fele  ; 

Yett  I muste  bee  mieselfe  ; with  valoures  gear 
I’lle  dyghte  mie  hearte,  and  notte  mie  lymbes 
yn  stele, 

And  shake  the  bloddie  swerde  and  steyned 
spereJ 

BIRTHA. 

Can  ^lla  from  hys  breaste  hys  Birtha  teare  ? 
Is  shee  so  rou  and  ugsomme  to  hys  syghte  ? 

^ These  poems  exhibit,  both  in  the  connection  of  words  and 
sentences,  a facility  of  combination,  a quickness  of  transition, 
a rapidity  of  apostrophe,  a frequent  variation  of  form  and 
phrase,  and  a firmness  of  contexture,  which  must  have  been 
the  result  of  a long  establishment  of  the  arts  and  habits  of 
writing.  The  versification  is  equally  vigorous  and  harmo= 
nious,  and  is  formed  on  a general  elegance  and  stability  of 
expression.  It  is  remarkable,  that  whole  stanzas  sparkle 
with  that  brilliancy,  which  did  not  appear  in  our  poetry  till 
towards  the  middle  of  the  present  century.  The  lines  have 
all  the  tricks  and  trappings,  all  the  sophistications  of  poetical 
style,  belonging  to  those  models  which  were  popular  when 
Chatterton  began  to  write  verses. 

Our  old  English  poets  are  minute  and  particular.  They 
do  not  deal  in  abstraction  and  general  exhibition,  the  effects 
of  affectation  and  a restless  pursuit  of  novelty.  They  dwell 
on  realities.  Even  in  the  course  of  narration  or  description, 
where  poets  of  the  fourteenth  or  fifteenth  centuries  would 
bar?  used  the  literal  expression,  and  represented  the  subject 
by  the  mention  of  natural  circumstances,  the  writer  of  these 
pieces  adopts  ideal  terms  and  artificial  modes  of  telling  a fact, 
and  too  frequently  falls  into  metaphor,  metaphysical  imaj^ery, 
ind  incidental  personification. — Warton. 


56 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Entrykeynge  wyght ! ys  leatliall  warre  so 
deare  ? 

Thou  pryzest  mee  belowe  the  joies  of  fyghte. 
Thou  scalte  notte  leave  mee,  albeytte  the 
erthe 

[long  pendaunte  bie  thie  swerde,  and  craved  for 
thy  morthe. 


iELLA. 

Dyddest  thou  kenne  howe  mie  woes,  as  starres 
ybrente, 

Headed  bie  these  thie  wordes  doe  onn  mee  falle, 
Thou  woulde  stryve  to  gyve  mie  harte  contente, 
Wakyng  mie  slepynge  mynde  to  honnoures 
calle. 

Of  selynesse  I pryze  thee  moe  yan  all 
Heaven  can  mee  sende,  or  counynge  wytt 
acquyre, 

Yette  I wylle  leave  thee,  onne  the  foe  to  falle.^ 
Retournynge  to  thie  eyne  with  double  fyre. 

BIRTHA. 

Moste  Birtha  boon  requeste  and  bee  denyd  ? 
Receyve  attenes^  a darte  yn  selynesse  and  pryde  ? 
Doe  stale,  att  leaste  tylle  morrowes  sonne 
apperes. 

1 At  once.  Bailey,  Kersey,  and  Speght,  who  evidently 
copied  it  from  one  another.  “ I very  much  suspect  that  the 
word  attenes  stands  upon  no  better  authority  than  a misorin* 
ill  Chaucer,  C.  T.  ver.  4072.” — Tyrwhitt. 


^LLA. 


57 


^LLA. 

Thou  kenneste  welle  the  Dacyannes  myttec 
powere ; 

Wythe  them  a mynnute  wurchethe  bane  for 
yeares  ; 

Theie  undoe  reaulmes  wythyn  a syngle  hower. 

Rouze  all  thie  honnoure,  Birtha  ; look  attoure 

Thie  bledeynge  countrie,  whych  for  hastie  dede 

Calls,  for  the  rodeynge  of  some  doughtie  power, 

To  royn  yttes  royners,  make  yttes  foemenne 
blede. 

BIRTHA. 

Rouze  all  thie  love ; false  and  entrykynge 
wyghte  ! 

Ne  leave  thie  Birtha  thos  uponne  pretence  of 
fyghte. 

Thou  nedest  notte  goe,  untyll  thou  haste  com- 
mand 

Under  the  sygnette  of  oure  lord  the  kynge. 

^LLA. 

And  wouldest  thou  make  me  then  a recreande  ? 

Hollie  Seyncte  Marie,  keepe  mee  from  the 
thynge ! 

Heere,  Birtha,  thou  hast  potte  a double  stynge, 

One  for  thie  love,  anodher  for  thie  mynde. 

BIRTHA. 

Agylted  iElla,  thie  abredynge  blynge. 


58 


ROWLEY  rOEMS. 


’Twas  love  of  thee  thatte  foule  intente  y wrynde.^ 
Yette  heare  mie  supplycate,  to  mee  attende, 
Hear  from  mie  groted  harte  the  lover  and  the 
friende. 

Lett  Celmonde  yn  thie  armour-brace  be  dyghte ; 
And  yn  thie  stead  unto  the  battle  goe ; 

Thie  name  alleyne  wylle  putte  the  Danes  to 
flyghte, 

The  ayre  thatt  beares  ytt  woulde  presse  downe 
the  foe. 

^LLA. 

Birtha,  yn  vayne  thou  wouldste  mee  recreande 
doe  ; 

I moste,  I wylle,  fyghte  for  mie  countries  wele, 
And  leave  thee  for  ytt.  Celmonde,  sweftlie 
goe, 

Telle  mie  Brystowans  to  [be]  dyghte  yn  stele ; 
Tell  hem  I scorne  to  kenne  hem  from  afar, 
Botte  leave  the  vyrgyn  brydall  bedde  for  bedde 
of  warre. 


iELLA,  BIRTHA. 

BIRTHA. 

And  thou  wylt  goe : 0 mie  agroted  harte  ! 

* ‘ YwTynde,’  revealed,  whispered.  — The  proper  word  ia 
yrowned.’  Thus  Chaucer,  in  the  Wife  of  Batli's  Prohgut— 
“ What  rown’st  ’ow  with  our  maid?  ” 
for  “ What  rownest  (or  whisperest)  thou  ? ” &c. 


^LLA. 


59 


JELLA. 

Mie  countrie  waites  mie  marclie ; J muste 
awaie ; 

Albeytte  I schulde  goe  to  mete  the  darte 
Of  certen  dethe,  yette  here  I woulde  notte  staie. 
Botte  thos  to  leave  thee,  Birtha,  do  the  asswaie 
Moe  torturynge  peynes  yanne  canne  be  sedde 
bie  tyngue. 

Yette  rouze  thie  honoure  uppe,  and  wayte  the 
dale, 

Whan  rounde  aboute  mee  songe  of  warre  heie 
synge. 

O Birtha,  strev  mie  agreeme  to  accaie. 

And  joyous  see  mie  armes,  dyghte  oute  ynn  warre 
arraie. 

BIRTHA. 

Difficile  ys  the  pennaunce,  yette  Idle  strev 
To  keepe  mie  woe  behyltren  yn  mie  breaste. 
Albeytte  nete  maye  to  mee  pleasaunce  yev, 
Lyche  thee,  I’Ue  strev  to  sette  mie  mjoide  atte 
reste. 

Yett  oh  ! forge ve,  yff  I have  thee  dystreste  ; 
Love,  doughtie  love,  wylle  beare  no  odher 
swaie. 

Juste  as  I was  wythe  JElla  to  be  bleste, 
Shappe  foullie  thos  hathe  snatched  hym  awaie. 
It  was  a tene  too  doughtie  to  bee  borne, 
Wydhout  an  ounde  of  teares  and  breaste  wyth 
syghes  ytorne. 


CO 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


JELLA. 

Thie  mynde  ys  now  thieselfe  ; why  wylte  thou 
bee 

All  blanche,  al  kyngelie,  all  soe  wyse  yn 
mynde, 

Alleyne  to  lett  pore  wretched  JElla  see, 

Whatte  wondrous  bighes  he  now  muste  leave 
behynde  ? 

0 Birtha  fayre,  warde  everyche  commynge 
wynde. 

On  every ch  wynde  I wylle  a token  sende : 

Onn  mie  longe  shielde  ycorne  thie  name  thouFt 
fynde. 

Butte  here  commes  Celmonde,  wordhie  knyghte 
and  friende. 


^LLA,  BIRTHA,  CELMONOE  S'pcalcin^ 

Thie  Brystowe  knyghtes  for  thie  forth- comynge 
lynge 

Eclione  athwarte  hys  backe  hys  longe  warre- 
shield  dothe  slynge. 

^LLA. 

Birtha,  adieu  ; but  yette  I cannotte  goe. 

BIRTHA. 

Lyfe  of  mie  spryte,  mie  gentle  -®lla,  stale. 
Engyne  mee  notte  wyth  syke  a dreerie  woe 


iELLA. 


61 


ACLLA. 

I muste,  I wylle  ; tys  honnoure  cals  awaie. 

BIRTHA. 

O mie  agroted  harte,  braste,  braste  ynn  twaie. 
^Ua,  for  honnoure,  flyes  awaie  from  mee. 

iELLA. 

Birtha,  adieu  ; I maie  notte  here  obaie. 

Tm  flyynge  from  mieselfe  yn  flying  thee. 

BIRTHA. 

O JElla,  housband,  friend,  and  loverde  staie. 
He’s  gon,  he’s  gone,  alass ! percase  he’s  gone  for 
aie. 

CELMONDE. 

Hope,  hallie  suster,  sweepeynge  thro’  the  skie, 
In  crowne  of  goulde,  and  robe  of  lillie  whyte, 
Whyche  farre  abrode  ynne  gentle  ayre  doe  flie, 
Meetynge  from  dystaunce  the  enjoyous  syghte, 
Albeytte  efte  thou  takest  thie  hie  flyghte 
Hecket  ynne  a myste,  and  wyth  thyne  eyne 
yblente, 

Nowe  commest  thou  to  mee  wythe  starrie 
lyghte ; 

Ontoe  thie  veste  the  rodde  sonne  ys  adente  ; 
The  Sommer  tyde,  the  month  of  Maie  appere, 
Depycte  wythe  skylledd  honde  upponn  thie  wyde 


aumere. 


32 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


I from  a nete  of  hopelen  am  adawed, 

Awhaped  atte  the  fetyveness  of  daie ; 

^lla,  bie  nete  moe  thann  hys  myndbruche 
awed, 

Is  gone,  and  I moste  followe,  toe  the  fraie. 

Celmonde  canne  ne’er  from  anie  byker  staie. 

Dothe  warre  beg}mne  ? there’s  Celmonde  yn 
the  place ; 

Botte  whanne  the  warre  ys  donne.  I’ll  haste 
awaie. 

The  reste  from  nethe  tymes  masque  must  shew 
yttes  face. 

I see  onnombered  joies  arounde  mee  ryse  ; 

Blake  stondethe  future  doome,  and  joie  dothe  mee 
alyse. 

O honnoure,  honnoure,  what  ys  bie  thee  hanne  ? 

Hailie  the  robber  and  the  bordelyer, 

Who  kens  ne  thee,  or  ys  to  thee  bestanne. 

And  nothynge  does  thie  myckle  gastness  fere. 

Faygne  woulde  I from  mie  bosomme  all  thee 
tare. 

Thou  there  dysperpellest  thie  levynne-bronde  ; 

Whylest  mie  soulgh’s  forwyned,  thou  art  the 
gare; 

Sleene  ys  mie  comforte  bie  thie  ferie  honde  ; 

As  somme  talle  hylle,  whann  wynds  doe  shake 
the  ground, 

Itte  kerveth  all  abroade,  bie  brasteynge  hyltrcn 
wounde. 


uELLA. 


68 


El  on  non  re,  whatt  bee  jtte  ? tys  a shadowes  shade, 
A thynge  of  wychencref^  an  idle  dreme ; 

On  of  the  fonnis  whych  the  clerche  have  made 
Menne  wydhoute  sprytes,  and  wommen  lor  to 
fleme,^ 

Knyghtes,  who  efte  kenne  the  loude  dynne  of 
the  beme, 

Schulde  be  forgarde  to  syke  enfeeblynge  waies, 
Make  everych  acte,  alyche  theyr  soules,  be 
breme, 

And  for  theyre  chyvalrie  alleyne  have  prayse. 
O thou,  whatteer  thie  name, 

Or  Zabalus  or  Queed, 

Comme,  steel  mie  sable  spryte. 

For  fremde  and  dolefulle  dede. 

MAGNUS,  HURRA,  and  HIE  PREESTE,  wyth  the 
ARMiE,  neare  watchette 

MAGNUS. 

Swythe  lette  the  olfrendes  to  the  Goddes  begynne, 
To  knowe  of  hem  the  issue  of  the  fyghte. 

Potte  the  blodde-steyned  sword  and  pavyes  ynne  ; 
Spreade  swythyn  all  arounde  the  hallie  lyghte. 

niE  PREESTE  syngeihJ^ 

Yee,  who  hie  yn  mokie  ayre 
Delethe  seasonnes  foule  or  fayre, 


♦ The  ancient  language  of  these  Poems  is  affected  and  im 


54 


ROWLEY  POEMS 


Yee,  who,  whanne  yee  weere  agguylte, 

The  mone  yn  bloddie  gyttelles  hylte, 

Mooved  the  starres,  and  dyd  unbynde 
Everyche  barriere  to  the  wynde  : 

Whanne  the  oundynge  waves  dystreste, 

Storven  to  be  overest, 

Sockeynge  yn  the  spyre-gyrte  towne, 
Swolterynge  wole  natyones  downe, 

Sendynge  dethe,  on  plagues  astrodde, 
Moovynge  lyke  the  erthys  Godde ; 

To  mee  send  your  heste  dyvyne, 

Lyghte  eletten  all  niyne  eyne, 

Thatt  I male  now  undevyse 
All  the  actyonnes  of  th’  empprize, 

\_falleth  downe  and  efte  rysethe. 
Thus  sayethe  the  Goddes ; goe,  yssue  to  the 
playne  ; 

Forr  there  shall  meynte  of  mytte  raenne  bee  slayne» 


natural.  Antiquated  expressions  are  ingrafted  on  present 
modes  of  speech.  The  diction  and  versification  are  at  per- 
petual variance.  Our  author  is  smooth  and  mellifluous  as 
Pope  and  Mason,  and  yet  more  obscure  and  inexplicable  than 
Gower  or  Chaucer.  The  conclusion  must  be  that  he  bor- 
rowed his  language  from  glossaries  and  etymological  English 
lexicons,  and  not  from  life  or  practice.  But  he  borrowed 
without  selection  or  discernment.  He  seems  to  have  been 
persuaded  that  no  other  ingredient  was  necessary  for  his  fic- 
tion than  old  words.  He  viewed  ancient  language  as  all  of 
*)ne  age  and  one  district.  In  dictionaries  of  old  English  he 
saw  words  detached  and  separated  from  their  context;  these 
he  seized  and  combined  with  others,  without  considering  then 
leJative  or  other  accidental  significations. — Warton. 


^LLA. 


G5 


• MAGNUS. 

Wliie,  soe  there  evere  was,  whanne  Magnus 
fouglite. 

Efte  have  I treynted  noyance  throughe  the 
hoaste, 

Athorowe  swerdes,  alyche  the  Queed  dys- 
traughte, 

Have  Magnus  pressynge  wroghte  hys  foemen 
loaste, 

As  whanne  a tempeste  vexethe  scare  ^he 
coaste, 

The  dyngeynge  ounde  the  sandeie  stronde  doe 
tare. 

So  dyd  I inne  the  warre  the  javlynne  toste, 

Full  meynte  a champyonnes  breaste  received 
mie  spear. 

Mie  sheelde,  lyche  sommere  morie  gronfer 
droke, 

Mie  lethalle  speere,  alyche  a levyn-mylted  oke. 

HURRA. 

Thie  wordes  are  greate,  full  hyghe  of  sound, 
and  eeke 

Lyche  thonderre,  to  the  whych  do  the  comme  no 
rayne. 

Itte  lacketh  notte  a doughtie  honde  to  speke  ; 

The  cocke  saiethe  drefte,  yett  armed  ys  he 
alleyne. 

Certis  thie  wordes  maie,  thou  motest  have  sayne 
VOL.  II.  5 


d6  ROWLEY  POEMS. 

Of  mee,  and  meynte  of  moe,  who  eke  canne 
fyghte, 

Who  haveth  trodden  downe  the  adventayle, 
And  tore  the  heaulmes  from  heades  of  myckle 
myghte. 

Sy thence  syke  myghte  ys  placed  yn  thie  honde, 
Lette  blowes  thie  actyons  speeke,  and  hie  thie 
corrage  stonde. 


MAGNUS. 

Thou  are  a warrioure.  Hurra,  thatte  I kenne, 
And  myckle  famed  for  thie  handie  dede. 

Thou  fyghtest  anente  maydens  and  ne  menne, 
Nor  aie  thou  makest  armed  hartes  to  blede. 
Efte  I,  caparyson’d  on  bloddie  stede, 

Havethe  thee  seene  binethe  mee  ynn  the 
fyghte, 

Wythe  corses  I investynge  everich  mede, 

And  thou  aston,  and  wondrynge  at  mie  myghte. 
Thanne  wouldest  thou  comme  yn  for  mie 
renome, 

Albeytte  thou  wouldst  reyne  awaie  from  bloddie 
dome. 

HURRA. 

How  ! butte  bee  bourne  mie  rage.  I kenne 
aryghte 

Bothe  thee  and  thyne  maie  ne  bee  wordhye 
peene, 

Eftsoones  I hope  wee  scalle  engage  yn  fyghte 


iELLA. 


07 


Thanne  to  the  souldjers  all  thou  wjlte  be- 
wreene. 

I’ll  prove  mie  courage  onne  the  burled  greene ; 
Tys  there  alleyne  I’ll  telle  thee  whatte  I bee. 
Gyf  I weelde  notte  the  deadlie  sphere  adeene, 
Thanne  lett  mie  name  be  fulle  as  lowe  as  thee. 
Thys  mie  adented  shielde,  thys  mie  warre- 
speare, 

Schalle  telle  the  falleynge  foe  gyf  Hurra’s  harte 
can  feare. 


MAGNUS. 

Magnus  woulde  speke,  butte  thatte  hys  noble 
spryte 

Dothe  soe  enrage,  he  knowes  notte  whatte  to 
sale. 

He’dde  speke  yn  blowes,  yn  gottes  of  blodde 
he’d  wryte, 

And  on  thie  heafod  peyncte  hys  myghte  for 
aie. 

Gyf  thou  anent  an  wolfynnes  rage  wouldest 
stale, 

’Tys  here  to  meet  ytt ; botte  gyff  nott,  bee  goe  ; 

Lest  I in  furrie  shulde  mie  armes  dysplaie, 

Whyche  to  thie  boddie  wylle  wurche  myckle 
woe. 

Oh  ! I bee  madde,  dystraughte  wyth  brendyng 
rage; 

Ne  seas  of  smethynge  got  e wylle  mie  chafed  harte 
asswage. 


m 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


HURRA. 

I kenne  thee,  Magnus,  welle  ; a wjghte  thou  art 

That  doest  aslee  alonge  ynn  doled  dystresse, 

Strynge  bulle  yn  boddie,  lyoncelle  yn  harte, 

I almost  wysche  thie  prowes  were  made  lesse. 

Whan  ^lla  (name  drest  uppe  yn  ugsomness 

To  thee  and  recreandes)  thondered  on  the 
playne, 

Howe  dydste  thou  thorowe  fyrste  of  fleers 
presse ! 

Swefter  thanne  federed  takelle  dydste  thou 
reyne. 

A ronnynge  pryze  onn  seyncte  dale  to  ordayne, 
Magnus,  and  none  botte  hee,  the  ronnynge  pryze 
wylle  gayne. 


MAGNUS. 

Eternalle  plagues  devour  thie  baned  tyngue  ! 
Myrriades  of  neders  pre  upponne  thie  spryte ! 
Maiest  thou  fele  al  the  peynes  of  age  whylst 
yynge. 

Unmanned,  uneyned,  exclooded  aie  the  lyghte, 
Thie  senses,  lyche  thieselfe,  enwrapped  yn 
nyghte, 

A scoff  to  foemen  and  to  beastes  a pheere ; 
Maie  furched  levynne  onne  thie  head  alyghte, 
Maie  on  thee  falle  the  fhuyr  of  the  unweere, 
?en  vaipoures  blaste  thie  everiche  manlie 
powere, 


^LLA. 


GO 


Maie  thie  bante  boddie  qujcke  the  wolsome 
peenes  devoure. 

Faygne  woulde  I curse  thee  further,  botte  mie 
tyugue 

Denies  mie  harte  the  favoure  soe  toe  doe. 

HURRA. 

Now(i  bie  the  Dacyanne  goddes,  and  Welkyns 
kynge, 

Wythe  fhurie,  as  thou  dydste  begynne,  persue  ; 

Calle  on  mie  heade  all  tortures  that  bee  rou, 

Bane  onne,  tylle  thie  owne  tongue  thie  curses 
fele. 

Sende  onne  mie  heade  the  blyghteynge  levynne 
blewe, 

The  thonder  loude,  the  swellynge  azure  rele ; 

Thie  wordes  be  hie  of  dynne,  botte  nete  be- 
syde; 

l^ane  on,  good  chieftayn,  fyghte  wythe  wordes  of 
myckle  pryde. 

Botte  doe  notte  waste  thie  breath,  lest  -®lla 
come. 

MAGNUS. 

^lla  and  thee  togyder  synke  toe  helle  ! 

Bee  youre  names  blasted  from  the  rolle  of 
dome ! 

I feere  noe  ^lla,  thatte  thou  kennest  welle. 

Unlydgefulle  traytoure,  wylt  thou  nowe  rebclle  ? 

Tys  knowen,  thatte  yie  menn  bee  lyncked  to 
myne. 


70 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Bothe  sonte,  as  troopes  of  wolves  to  sletre 
felle ; 

Botte  nowe  thou  lackest  hem  to  be  all  jjne. 

Nowe,  hie  the  goddes  yatte  reule  the  Dacyanne 
state, 

Speacke  thou  yn  rage  once  moe,  I wyll  thee 
dysregate. 

HURRA. 

I pryze  thie  threattes  joste  as  I doe  thie  banes, 

The  sede  of  malyce  and  recendize  al. 

Thou  arte  a steyne  unto  the  name  of  Danes ; 

Thou  alleyne  to  thie  tyngue  for  proofe  canst 
calle. 

Thou  beest  a worme  so  groffile  and  so  smal, 

I wythe  thie  bloude  woulde  scorne  to  foul  mie 
sworde, 

Botte  wythe  thie  weaponnes  woulde  upon  thee 
falle, 

Alyche  thie  owne  feare,  slea  thee  wythe  a 
worde. 

I Hurra  amme  miesel,  and  aie  wylle  bee, 

As  greate  yn  valourous  actes,  and  yn  commande 
as  thee. 

MAGNUS,  HURRA,  ARMYE,  AND  MESSENGERE. 

MESSENGERE. 

Blynne  your  contekions,  chiefs  ; for,  as  I stode 

Dponne  mie  watche,  I spiede  an  armie  com- 
mynge. 


^LLA. 


71 


Notte  Ijche  ann  handfulle  of  a fremded  foe, 

Botte  blacke  wjthe  armoure,  mo^ynge  ug- 
somlie, 

Lyclie  a blacke  fulle  cloude,  thatte  dotbe  goe 
alonge 

To  droppe  yn  bayle,  and  bele  the  thonder 
storme. 

MAGNUS. 

At  there  meynte  of  them  ? 

MESSENGERR. 

Thycke  as  the  ante-flyes  ynne  a sommer’s  none, 

Seemynge  as  tho’  theie  stynge  as  persante  too. 

HURRA. 

Whatte  matters  thatte  ? lettes  sette  oure  warr- 
arraie. 

Goe,  sounde  the  beme,  lette  champyons  pre- 
pare ; 

Ne  doubtynge,  we  wylle  stynge  as  faste  as  heie. 

Whatte  ? doest  forgard  thie  blodde  ? ys  ytte  for 
feare  ? 

Wouldest  thou  gayne  the  towne,  and  castle-stere. 

And  yette  ne  byker  wythe  the  soldyer  guarde  ? 

Go,  hyde  thee  ynn  mie  tente  annethe  the  lere ; 

T of  thie  boddie  wylle  keepe  watche  and  warde. 

MAGNUS. 

Oure  goddes  of  Denmarke  know  mie  harte  ys 
goode. 


72 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


HURRA. 

For  net(3  uppon  the  erthe,  botte  to  be  choughens 
foode. 

MAGNUS,  HURRA,  ARMIE,  SECONDE  MESSENGERRE. 
SECONDE  MESSENGERRE. 

As  from  mie  towre  I kende  the  commynge 
foe, 

I spied  the  crossed  shielde,  and  bloddie  swerde. 
The  furjous  Ella’s  banner  ; wythynne  kenne 
The  armie  ys.  Dysorder  throughe  oure  hoaste 
Is  fleynge,  borne  onne  wynges  of  Ella’s  name ; 
Styr,  styr,  mie  lordes  ! 

MAGNUS. 

What  ? ^lla  ? and  soe  neare  ? 
Thenne  Denmarques  roiend ; oh  mie  rysynge 
feare ! 


HURRA. 

What  doeste  thou  mene  ? thys  -ZEUa’s  botte  a 
manne. 

No  we  bie  my  sworde,  thou  arte  a verie  berne. 
Of  late  I dyd  thie  creand  valoure  scanne, 
JVhanne  thou  dydst  boaste  soe  moche  of  actyon 
derne. 

Botte  I toe  warr  mie  doeynges  moste  atturne, 
To  cheere  the  Sabbataneres  to  deere  dede. 


^LLA. 


73 


MAGNLTS. 

I to  the  knyghtes  onne  everyche  syde  wylle 
burne,^ 

Telleynge  ’hem  alle  to  make  her  foemen  blede  ; 
Sythe  shame  or  deathe  onne  eidher  syde  wylle 
bee, 

Mie  harte  I wylle  upryse,  and  inne  the  battelle 
slea. 

^LLA,  CELMONDE,  AND  ARMIE  mav  WATCHETTE. 
a:lla. 

Now  havynge  done  oure  mattynes  and  oure 
vowes, 

Lette  us  for  the  intended  fyghte  be  boune, 

And  everyche  champyone  potte  the  joyous 
crowne 

Of  certane  masterschyppe  upon  hys  glestreynge 
browes. 

As  for  mie  harte,  I owne  ytt  ys,  as  ere 
Itte  has  beene  ynn  the  sommer-sheene  of  fate, 
Unknowen  to  the  ugsomme  gratche  of  fere  ; 
Mie  blodde  embollen,  wythe  masterie  elate, 
Boyles  ynne  mie  veynes,  and  rolles  ynn  rapyd  state, 
Impatyente  forr  to  mete  the  nersante  stele, 

1 “ Burne,”  says  Dean  Milles,  is  probably  a mistake  foi 
turne,’  ” in  which  sense  it  must  be  read  in  the  text. 


74 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


And  telle  the  worlde,  thatte  JEUa  dyed  as 
greate 

As  anie  knyghte  who  foughte  for  Englondes 
weale. 

Friends,  kynne,  and  soldyerres,  ynne  blacke 
armore  drere, 

Mie  actyons  ymytate,  mie  presente  redynge  here. 

There  ys  ne  house,  athrow  thys  shap-scurged 
isle, 

Thatte  has  ne  loste  a kynne  yn  these  fell 
fyghtes, 

Fatte  blodde  has  sorfeeted  the  hongerde  soyle, 

And  townes  enlowed  lemed  oppe  the  nyghtes. 

Inne  gyte  of  fyre  oure  hallie  churche  dheie 
dyghtes ; 

Oure  sonnes  lies  torven  ynne  theyre  smethynge 
gore; 

Oppe  hie  the  rootes  oure  tree  of  lyfe  dheie 
pyghtes, 

Vexynge  oure  coaste,  as  byllowes  doe  the  shore. 

Yee  menne,  gyf  ye  are  naenne,  displaie  yor 
name, 

fbrende  yer  tropes,  alyche  the  roaryngt^  tempest 
flame. 

Ye  Chrystyans,  doe  as  wordhie  of  the  mame ; 

These  roynerres  of  oure  hallie  houses  slea ; 

Braste,  lyke  a cloude,  from  whence  d<  come 
the  flame. 


^LLA. 


75 


Lyche  torrentes,  gushynge  downe  the  moiin- 
taines,  bee. 

And  whanne  alonge  the  grene  yer  champyons 
flee, 

Swefte  as  the  rodde  for-weltrynge  levyn- 
bronde, 

Yatte  hauntes  the  flyinge  mortherer  oere  the  lea, 

Soe  flie  oponne  these  royners  of  the  londe. 

Lette  those  yatte  are  unto  yer  battayles  fledde, 
Take  slepe  eterne  uponne  a feerie  lowynge  bedde. 

Let  cowarde  Londonne  see  herre  towne  on 
fyre, 

And  strev  wythe  goulde  to  stale  the  royners 
honde, 

^lla  and  Brystowe  have  the  thoughtes  thattes 
hygher. 

Wee  fyghte  notte  forr  ourselves,  botte  all  the 
londe. 

As  Severnes  hyger^  lyghethe  banckes  of  sonde, 


1 The  most  favourite  allusion  of  Eowley,  because  it  is  three 
times  mentioned,  (Battle  of  Hastings,  ver.  326, 691,  and  above 
in  iElla,)  is  the  ‘ hygra,’  or  as  it  is  vulgarly  called  ‘ The 
bore  of  the  Severn,’  which  consists  of  a high  wall  of  water, 
gradually  accumulated  from  the  strong  influence  of  the  At- 
lantic ocean  into  the  Bristol  channel,  and  contracted  by  the 
narrowing  banks  on  each  side,  till  at  last  it  breaks  with  fury 
against  them,  and  on  the  channel  of  the  river.  Drayton  has 
given  a picturesque  description  of  this  ‘ hygra  ’ at  the  be- 
jmning  of  his  seventh  Canto. — Dean  Milles.  See  addb 
\ional  notes  at  the  end  of  ^lla. 


7G 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Pressjnge  ytte  downe  binethe  the  reynynge 
streme, 

Wythe  dreerie  dynn  enswolters  the  hyghe 
stronde, 

Beerynge  the  rockes  alonge  ynn  f hurye  breme, 

Soe  wylle  wee  beere  the  Dacyanne  armie 
downe, 

Ajid  throughe  a.  storme  of  blodde  wyll  reache  the 
champyon  crowne. 

Gyff  ynn  thys  battelle  locke  ne  wayte  oure 
gare, 

To  Brystowe  dheie  wylle  tourne  yeyre  fhuyrie 
dyre ; 

Brystowe,  and  alle  her  joies,  wylle  synke  toe 
ayre, 

Brendeynge  perforce  wythe  unenhantende  fyre : 

Thenne  lette  oure  safetie  doubJie  moove  oure 
ire, 

Lyche  wolfyns,  rovynge  for  the  evnynge  pre. 

Seeing  the  lambe  and  shepsterr  nere  the  brire. 

Doth  th’one  forr  safetie,  th’one  for  hongre  slea ; 

Thanne,  whanne  the  ravenne  crokes  uponne 
the  playne, 

Dh ! lette  ytte  bee  the  knelle  to  myghtie 
Dacyanns  slayne. 

Lyche  a rodde  gronfer,  shalle  mie  anlace 
sheene, 

Lyche  a strynge  lyoncelle  I’lle  bee  ynn  fyghte 


^LLA. 


77 


Lyche  fallynge  leaves  the  Dacyannes  shall  hoe 
sluene, 

Lyche  aloud  dynnynge  streeme  scalle  be  mie 
myghte. 

Ye  menne,  who  woulde  deserve  the  name  of 
knyghte, 

Lette  bloddie  teares  bie  all  your  paves  be 
wepte  ; 

To  commynge  tymes  no  poyntelle  shalle  ywrite, 

Whanne  Englonde  han  her  foemenn,  Brystow 
slepte. 

Yourselfes,  youre  chyldren,  and  yoiire  fellowes 
crie, 

Go,  fyghte  ynn  rennomes  gare,  be  brave,  and 
Wynne  or  die. 

I saie  ne  moe ; youre  spryte  the  reste  wylle 
sale  ; 

Youre  spryte  wylle  wrynne,  thatte  Brystow  ys 
yer  place  ; 

To  honoures  house  I nede  notte  marcke  the 
waie  ; 

Inne  youre  owne  hartes  you  maie  the  foote- 
pathe  trace. 

’Twexte  shappe  and  us  there  ys  botte  lyttelle 
space  ; 

The  tyme  ys  nowe  to  proove  yourselves  bee 
menne  ; 

Drawe  forthe  the  bornyshed  bylle  wythe  fetyve 
grace. 


78 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Rouze,  lyche  a wolfynne  rouzing  from  hys 
denne. 

Thus  I enrone  mie  anlace ; go  thou  shethe  ; 
rile  potte  ytt  ne  ynn  place,  tyll  ytte  ys  sycke 
wythe  deathe. 


SOLDYERS. 

Onn,  JEUa,  onn ; we  longe  for  blqddie  fraie ; 
Wee  longe  to  here  the  raven  synge  yn  vayne ; 
Onn,  ^lla,  onn  ; we  certys  gayne  the  dale, 
Whanne  thou  doste  leade  us  to  the  leathal 
playne. 


CELMONDE. 

Thie  speche,  0 Loverde,  fyreth  the  whole 
trayne  ; 

Theie  pancte  for  war,  as  honted  wolves  for 
breathe ; 

Go,  and  sytte  crowned  on  corses  of  the  slayne ; 
Go,  and  ywielde  the  massie  swerde  of  deathe. 

SOLDYERRES. 

From  thee,  0 iEUa,  alle  oure  courage  reygnes ; 
Echone  yn  phantasie  do  lede  the  Danes  ynne 
chaynes. 


^LLA. 

Mie  countrymenne,  mie  friendes,  your  noble 
sprytes 

Speke  yn  youre  eyne,  and  doe  yer  master  telle. 


^LLA. 


79 


Swefte  as  the  rayne-storme  toe  the  erthe 
alyghtes, 

Soe  wylle  we  fall  upon  these  royners  felle. 

Oure  mowynge  swerdes  shalle  plonge  hem 
downe  to  helle  ; 

Theyre  throngynge  corses  shall  onlyghte  the 
starres ; 

The  barrowes  brastynge  wythe  the  sleene  schall 
swelle, 

Brynnynge  to  commynge  tymes  our  famous 
warres ; 

Inne  everie  eyne  I kenne  the  lowe  of  myghte, 
Sheenynge  abrode,  alyche  a hylle-fyre  ynne  the 
nyghte. 

Whanne  poyntelles  of  oure  famous  fyghte  shall 
sale, 

Echorie  wylle  mar  veil  e atte  the  dernie  dede, 

Echone  wylle  wyssen  hee  hanne  seene  the  dale, 

And  bravelie  helped  to  make  the  foemenn  blede ; 

Botte  for  yer  holpe  oure  battelle  wylle  notte 
nede ; 

Oure  force  ys  force  enowe  to  stale  theyre  honde ; 

Wee  wylle  retourne  unto  thys  grened  mede, 

Oer  corses  of  the  foemen  of  the  londe. 

Nowe  to  the  warre  lette  all  the  slughornes 
sounde, 

The  Dacyanne  troopes  appere  on  yinder  rysynge 
grounde. 

Cluefes,  heade  youre  bandes,  and  leade. 


80 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


DANES  fiyinge,  neare  watchette. 

FYRSTE  DANE. 

Fly,  fly,  ye  Danes  ! Magnus,  the  cliiefe,  ys 
sleene ; 

The  Saxonnes  come  wythe  ^lla  atte  they  re 
heade  ; 

Lette’s  strev  to  gette  awaie  to  yinder  greene ; 

Flie,  flie  ; thys  ys  the  kyngdomme  of  the 
deadde. 

SECONDE  DANE. 

0 goddes ! have  thousandes  hie  mie  anlace 
bledde. 

And  muste  I nowe  for  safetie  flie  awaie  ? 

See  I farre  besprenged  alle  oure  troopes  are 
spreade, 

Yette  I wylle  synglie  dare  the  bloddie  fraie. 

Botte  ne  ; I’lle  flie,  and  morther  yn  retrete ; 

Dcathe,  blodde,  and  fyre,  scalle  marke  the  goeynge 
of  my  feete. 


THYRDE  DANE. 

Enthoghteyiige  forr  to  scape  the  brondeynge 
foe, 

As  nere  unto  the  byllowd  beche  I came, 

Farr  ode  I spied  a syghte  of  myckle  woe, 
Oure  spyrynge  battayles  wrapte  ynn  sayles  of 
flame. 


^LLA. 


81 


The  burled  Dacyarmes,  who  were  ynne  the  same, 
Fro  syde  to  syde  fledde  the  pursuyte  of  deathe  ; 
The  swelleynge  fyre  yer  corrage  doe  enflame, 
Theie  lej)e  ynto  the  sea,  and  bobblynge  yield 
yer  breathe ; 

Whylest  those  thatt  bee  uponne  the  bloddie 
playne. 

Bee  deathe-doomed  captyves  taene,  or  yn  the 
battle  slayne. 


HURRA. 

Nowe  bie  the  goddes,  Magnus,  dyscourteous 
knyghte, 

Bie  cravente  havyoure  havethe  don  oure  woe, 

Despendynge  all  the  talle  menne  yn  the  fyghte. 

And  placeyng  valourous  menne  where  dralfs 
mote  goe. 

Sy thence  oure  fourtunie  havethe  tourned  soe, 

Gader  the  souldyers  lefte  to  future  shappe. 

To  somme  newe  place  for  safetie  we  wylle  goe, 

Inne  future  daie  wee  wylle  have  better  happe. 

Sounde  the  loude  slughorne  for  a quicke  for- 
loyne  ; 

Lette  all  the  Dacyannes  swythe  unto  oure  banner 
joyne. 

Throw  hamlettes  wee  wylle  sprenge  sadde 
dethe  and  dole, 

Bathe  yn  hotte  gore,  and  wasch  ourselves 
thereynne  : 

VOL.  II. 


6 


82 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Goddes ! here  the  Saxonnes  lyche  a byllowe 
rolle. 

I heere  the  anlacis  detested  dynne. 

Awaie,  awaie,  ye  Danes,  to  yonder  penne  ; 

Wee  now  wylle  make  forloyne  yn  tyme  to  fyghte 
agenne. 

CELMONDE,  near  watchette. 

O forr  a spryte  al  feere  ! to  telle  the  dale, 

The  dale  whyche  seal  astounde  the  herers  rede, 

Makeynge  oure  foemennes  envyynge  hartes  to 
blede, 

Ybereynge  thro  the  worlde  oure  rennomde  name 
for  aie. 

Bryghte  sonne  han  ynn  hys  roddie  robes  byn 
dyghte, 

From  the  rodde  Easte  he  flytted  wythe  hys 
trayne. 

The  howers  drewe  awaie  the  geete  of  nyghte, 

Her  sable  tapistrie  was  rente  yn  twayne. 

The  dauncynge  streakes  bedecked  heavennes 
playne. 

And  on  the  dewe  dyd  smyle  wythe  shemrynge 
eie, 

liyche  gottes  of  blodde  whyche  doe  blacke 
armoure  steyne, 

Sheenynge  upon  the  borne  whyche  stondeth  hie 


' See  the  additional  notes  at  the  end  of  ^Ella. 


^LLA. 


83 


The  souldyers  stoode  uponne  the  hillis  sjde, 

Lyche  yonge  enlefed  trees  whyche  yn  a forreste 
byde. 

rose  lyche  the  tree  besette  wythc  brieres  ; 

Hys  talle  speere  sheenynge  as  the  star  res  at 
nyghte, 

Hys  eyne  ensemeynge  as  a lowe  of  fyre  ; 

Whanne  he  encheered  everie  manne  to  fyghte, 

Hys  gentle  wordes  dyd  moove  eche  valourous 
knyghte  ; 

Itte  moovethe  ’hem,  as  honterres  lyoncelle  ; 

In  trebled  armoiire  ys  theyre  courage  dyghte  ; 

Eche  warrynge  harte  forr  prayse  and  rennome 
swelles  ; 

Lyche  slowelie  dynnynge  of  the  croucheynge 
streme, 

Syche  dyd  the  mormrynge  sounde  of  the  whol 
armie  seme. 

Hee  ledes  ’hem  onne  to  fyghte ; oh  ! thenne  to 
sale 

How  JElla  loked,  and  lokyng  dyd  encheere, 

Moovynge  alyche  a mountayne  yn  affraie, 

Whanne  a lowde  whyrlevynde  doe  yttes  boe- 
somme  tare 

To  telle  howe  everie  loke  wuld  banyshe  feere, 

Woulde  aske  an  angelles  poyntell  or  hys 
tyngue. 

Lyche  a talle  rocke  yatte  ryseth  heaven-were, 


84 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Lyche  a yonge  wolfyime  brondeous  and  strynge, 

Soe  dydde  he  goe,  and  myghtie  warriours 
hedde ; 

Wythe  gore-depycted  wynges  masterie  arounde 
hym  fledde. 

The  battelle  jyned ; swerdes  uponne  swerdes 
dyd  rynge ; 

^lla  was  chafed  as  lyonns  madded  bee ; 

Lyche  fallynge  starres,  he  dydde  the  javlynn 
fiynge  ; 

Hys  mightie  anlace  mightie  menne  dyd  slea ; 

Where  he  dydde  comme,  the  flemed  foe  dydde 
flee, 

Or  felle  benethe  hys  honde,  as  fallynge  rayne, 

Wythe  sythe  a fhuyrie  he  dydde  onn  ’hemm 
dree, 

Hylles  of  yer  bowkes  dyd  ryse  opponne  the 
playne ; 

^lla,  thou  arte — botte  stale,  mie  tynge;  sale 
nee  ; 

Ilowe  greate  I hymme  maye  make,  stylle  greater 
bee  wylle  bee. 

Nor  dydde  hys  souldyerres  see  hys  actes  yn 
vayne. 

Heere  a stoute  Dane  uponne  hys  compheere 
feUe; 

Heere  lorde  and  hyndlette  sonke  uponne  the 
playne ; 


iELLA. 


85 


Heere  sonne  and  fadre  trembled  ynto  belle. 

Chief  Magnus  soughthyswaie,  and,  shame  to 
telle  ! 

Hee  soughte  hys  waie  for  flyghte  ; botte  Ella’s 
speere 

Uponne  the  flyynge  Dacyannes  schoulder  felle, 

Quyte  throwe  hys  boddie,  and  hys  harte  ytte 
tare, 

He  groned,  and  sonke  uponne  the  gone  greene, 
And  wythe  hys  corse  encreased  the  pyles  of  Da- 
cyannes sleene. 

Spente  wythe  the  fyghte,  the  Danyshe  champy- 
ons  stonde, 

Lyche  bulles,  whose  strengthe  and  wondrous 
myghte  ys  fledde  ; 

-^Ua,  a javelynne  grypped  yn  eyther  honde, 

Flyes  to  the  thronge,  and  doomes  two  Dacyannes 
deadde. 

After  hys  acte,  the  armie  all  yspedde  ; 

Fromm  everich  on  unmyssynge  javlynnes 
flewe ; 

Theie  straughte  yer  doughtie  swerdes ; the  foe- 
menn  bledde ; 

Fulle  three  of  foure  of  myghtie  Danes  dheie 
slewe ; 

The  Danes,  wythe  terroure  rulynge  att  their 
head, 

Threwe  downe  theyr  bannere  talle,  and  lyche  a 
ravenne  fledde. 


B6 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


The  soldyerres  followed  wythe  a myglitie  crie, 

Cryes,  yatte  welle  myghte  the  stouteste  hartes 
affraie. 

Swefte,  as  yer  shyppes,  the  vanquyshed  Da- 
cyannes  flie ; 

Swefte,  as  the  rayne  uponne  an  Aprylle  dale, 

Pressynge  behynde,  the  Englysche  soldyerres 
slaie. 

Botte  halfe  the  tythes  of  Danyshe  menne  re- 
mayne  ; 

-^lla  commaundes  ’heie  shoulde  the  sleetre 
stale, 

Botte  bynde  ’hem  prysonners  on  the  bloddie 
playne. 

The  fyghtynge  beynge  done,  I came  awaie, 

In  odher  fieldes  to  fyghte  a moe  unequalle  fraie. 

Mie  servant  squyre ! 

CELMONDE,  SERVITOURE. 

CELMONDE. 

Prepare  a fleing  horse. 

Whose  feete  are  wynges,  whose  pace  ys  lycke 
the  wynde, 

Whoe  wylle  outestreppe  the  morneynge  lyghte 
yn  course, 

Leaveynge  the  gyttelles  of  the  merke  be- 
hynde. 

Somme  hyltrcn  matters  doe  mie  presence 
fynde. 


iELLA. 


87 


Gyv  oute  to  alle  yatte  I was  sleene  ynne 
fyghte. 

Gyff  ynne  thys  gare  thou  doest  mie  order 
mynde, 

Whanne  I returne,  thou  shalte  be  made  a 
knyghte  ; 

Flie,  flie,  be  gon ; an  howerre  ys  a daie ; 

Quycke  dyghte  mie  beste  of  stedes,  and  brynge 
hymm  heere — awaie  ! 

CELMONDE.  [soZwS.] 

^lla  ys  woundedd  sore,  and  ynne  the  toune 

He  waytethe,  tylle  hys  woundes  be  broghte  to 
ethe. 

And  shalle  I from  hys  browes  plocke  off  the 
croune, 

Makynge  the  vyctore  yn  hys  vyctorie 
blethe  ? 

0 no ! fulle  sooner  schulde  mie  hartes  blodde 
smethe, 

Fulle  soonere  woulde  I tortured  bee  toe 
deathe  ; 

Botte — Birtha  ys  the  pryze  ; ahe  ! ytte  were 
ethe 

To  gayne  so  gayne  a pryze  wythe  losse  of 
breathe ; 

Botte  thanne  rennome  aeterne — ytte  ys  botte 
ayre ; 

Bredde  ynne  the  phantasie,  and  alleyn  lyvynge 
there. 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


«8 


Albejtte  everyche  thynge  yn  lyfc  conspyre 
To  telle  me  of  the  faulte  I now  schulde  doe, 
Yette  woulde  I battentlie  assuage  mie  fyre, 
And  the  same  menes,  as  I scall  nowe,  pursue. 
The  qualytyes  I fro  mie  parentes  drewe, 

Were  blodde,  and  morther,  masterie,  and  warre; 
Thie  ^ I wylle  holde  to  now,  and  hede  ne  moe 
A wounde  yn  rennome,  yanne  a boddie  scarre. 
Nowe,  JElla,  nowe  Ime  plantynge  of  a thorne, 
Bie  whyche  thie  peace,  thie  love,  and  glorie  shalle 
be  tome. 


Brystowe. 

BIRTHA,  EGWINA. 

BIRTHA. 

Gentle  Egwina,  do  notte  preche  me  joie  ; 

I cannotte  joie  ynne  anie  thynge  botte  weere. 
Oh ! yatte  aughte  schulde  oure  sellynesse  de- 
stroie, 

Floddynge  the  face  wythe  woe,  and  brynie 
teare ! 

EGWINA. 

You  muste,  you  muste  endeavour  for  to  cheere 
Youre  harte  unto  somme  cherisaunied  reste. 
Youre  loverde  from  the  battelle  wylle  appere, 
Ynne  honnoure,  and  a greater  love,  be  dreste  ; 

1 * Thie  ’ is  a mistake,  or,  at  least  misprint  for  ‘ these.’— 
Dean  Milles. 


^LLA. 


89 


Botte  I wjlle  call  the  mynstrelles  roimdelaie ; 
Percliaunce  the  s^^otie  sounde  male  chase  your 
wiere  awaie. 


BIRTHA,  EGWINA,  MYNSTRELLES. 
MYNSTRELLES  SONGE. 


I. 

O ! synge  untoe  mie  roundelaie, 

O 1 droppe  the  brynie  teare  wythe  mee, 
Daunce  ne  moe  atte  hallie  dale, 

Lycke  a reynynge  ry ver  bee  ; 

Mie  love  ys  dedde, 

Gon  to  hys  death-bedde, 

A1  under  the  wyllowe  tree- 


II. 

Blacke  hys  cryne  as  the  wyntere  nyghte,^ 
Whyte  hys  rode  as  the  sommer  snowe, 


1 ‘ Black  his  hair  as  the  winter  night/  &c. 

His  beard  was  white  as  snow, 

All  flaxen  was  his  poll; 

He’s  gone,  and  he’s  gone,  and  we’ll  cast  away  moan 
Gramercy  on  his  soul.” — Hamlet^  Act  iv.  Sc.  3. 

In  the  romance  of  Sir  Launfal,  quoted  by  Warton,  we 

aave 

“ Har  faces  was  white  as  snowe  on  downe, 

Har  rode  was  red,  har  eyne  were  browne.” 


90 


ROWLEY  rOEMS. 


Rodde  hys  face  as  the  mornjnge  lyghte, 
Cale  he  lyes  ynne  the  grave  belowe ; 

Mie  love  ys  dedde, 

Gon  to  hys  deathe-bedde, 

A1  under  the  wyllowe  tree. 

III. 

Swote  hys  tyngue  as  the  throstles  note, 
Quycke  ynn  daunce  as  thoughte  canne  bee, 
Defte  hys  taboure,  codgelle  stote, 

O ! hee  lyes  bie  the  wyllowe  tree  ; 

Mie  love  ys  dedde, 

Gonne  to  hys  deathe-bedde, 

AUe  underre  the  wyllowe  tree. 

IV. 

Harke  ! the  ravenne  flappes  hys  wynge. 

In  the  briered  delle  belowe  ; 

Harke  ! the  dethe-owle  loude  do  the  synge, 
To  the  nyghte-mares  as  heie  goe ; 

Mie  love  ys  dedde, 

Gonne  to  hys  deathe-bedde, 

A1  under  the  wyllowe  tree. 


V. 

See ! the  whyte  moone  sheenes  onne  hie  ; 
Whyterre  ys  mie  true  loves  shroude ; 
Whyterre  yanne  the  mornynge  skie, 
Whyterre  yanne  the  evenynge  cloud  e ; 
Mie  love  ys  dedde. 


^LLA. 


i)l 


Gon  to  liys  deathe-bedde, 

A1  under  the  wyllowe  tree. 

VI. 

Heere,  uponne  mie  true  loves  grave, 
Schalle  the  baren  fleurs  be  layde, 

Nee  one  hallie  Seyncte  to  save 
A1  the  celness  of  a mayde. 

Mie  love  ys  dedde, 

Gonne  to  hys  deathe-bedde, 
Alle  under  the  wyllowe  tree. 

VII. 

Wythe  mie  hondes  I’lle  dente  the  brieres 
E-ounde  his  hallie  corse  to  gre, 

Ouphante  fairie,  lyghte  youre  fyres, 
Heere  mie  boddie  stylle  schalle  bee. 

Mie  love  ys  dedde, 

Gon  to  hys  deathe-bedde, 

A1  under  the  wyllowe  tree. 

VIII. 

Comme,  wythe  acorne-coppe  and  thorne, 
Drayne  mie  hartys  blodde  awaie  ; 

Lyfe  and  all  yttes  goode  I scorne, 
Daunce  bie  nete,  or  feaste  by  daie. 

Mie  love  ys  dedde, 

Gon  to  hys  death-bedde, 

A1  under  the  wyllowe  tree. 


?2 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


IX. 

Waterre  wytches,  crownede  wythe  reytes, 

Bere  mee  to  yer  leathalle  tyde. 

I die  ! I comme  ! mie  true  love  waytes. 

Thos  the  damselle  spake  and  dyed.^ 

BIRTHA. 

Thys  syngeyng  haveth  whatte  coulde  make 
ytte  please ; 

Butte  mie  uncourtlie  shappe  benymmes  mee  of 
all  ease. 


^LLA,  atte  WATCHETTE. 

Curse  onne  mie  tardie  woundes ! brynge  mee 
a stede ! 

I wylle  awaie  to  Birtha  bie  thys  nyghte ; 

Albeytte  fro  mie  woundes  mie  soul  doe  blede, 

I wylle  awaie,  and  die  wythynne  her  syghte. 

Brynge  mee  a stede,  wythe  eagle-wynges  for 
flyghte  ; 

Swefte  as  mie  wyshe,  and,  as  mie  love  ys, 
stronge. 

The  Danes  have  wroughte  mee  myckle  woe 
ynne  fyghte, 

Inne  kepeynge  mee  from  Birtha’s  armes  so  longe. 

1 This  very  beautiful  song  has  been  lately  set  to  music  by 
my  esteemed  friend,  Henry  Hugh  Pearson,  Esq.,  of  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge. 


-®LLA. 


93 


0 ! whatte  a dome  was  myne,  sythe  masterie 
Canne  yeve  ne  pleasaunce,  nor  mie  londes  goode 

leme  myne  eie ! 

Yee  goddes,  ho  we  ys  a loverres  temper  formed  ! 

Sometymes  the  samme  thynge  wylle  bothe 
bane,  and  blesse ; 

One  tyme  encalede,  yanne  hie  the  same  thynge 
warmd, 

Estroughted  foorthe,  and  yanne  ybrogten  less. 

’Tys  Birtha’s  loss  whyche  doe  mie  though tes 
possesse ; 

1 wylle,  I muste  awaie  : whie  stales  mie  stede  ? 

Mie  huscarles,  hyther  haste ; prepare  a dresse, 

Whyche  couracyers  yn  hastie  journies  nede. 

0 heavens  ! I moste  awaie  to  Byrtha  eyne. 

For  yn  her  lookes  I fynde  mie  beynge  doe 
entwyne. 

CELMONDE,  atte  BRYSTOWE. 

The  worlde  ys  darke  wythe  nyghte ; the  wyndes 
are  stylle ; ^ 

1 To  have  been  dull  would  not  have  suited  Chatterton’s 
purpose,  nor  indeed  was  it  consistent  with  his  genius.  His 
aim  was  to  dazzle  and  surprise,  by  producing  such  high 
wrought  pieces  of  ancient  poetry  as  never  before  existed. 
But  to  secure  our  credulity,  he  should  have  pleased  us  less. 
He  has  shown  too  much  genius,  and  too  little  skill.  Over- 
acting his  part,  and  unable  or  unwilling  to  repress  his  abil 
ities,  he  awakened  our  suspicions,  and  exposed  his  want  of 
<iddress  in  attempting  to  deceive.  He  sacrificed  his  veracity 


94 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Fajntelie  the  mone  her  palyde  lyghte  makes 
gleme ; 

The  upryste  sprytes  the  sylente  letten  fylle, 

Wythe  ouphant  faery es  joynyng  ynne  the 
dreme ; 

The  forreste  sheenethe  wythe  the  sylver 
leme ; 

Nowe  maie  mie  love  be  sated  ynn  yttes 
treate  ; 

Uponne  the  lynche  of  somme  swefte  reynyng 
streme, 

At  the  swote  banquette  I wylle  swotelie  eate. 

Thys  ys  the  howse;  yee  hyndes,  swythyn 
appere. 

CELMONDE,  SERVYTOURE. 

CELMONDE. 

Go  telle  to  Birtha  strayte,  a straungerr  waytethe 
here. 


to  an  imprudent  ambition.  Instead  of  wondering  at  his  con- 
trivance, we  find  he  had  none.  A mediocrity  of  poetical 
talents  would  have  succeeded  much  better  in  this  imposture. 
He  was  too  good  a poet  to  conduct  and  execute  such  a for- 
gery. He  conceived  that  his  old  poetry  would  be  sufficiently 
marked  by  old  words  and  old  spelling.  But  he  took  no 
•‘.aution  about  thoughts  and  imagery,  the  sentiment  and  the 
substance.  He  had  forgot,  or  never  knew,  or  was  not  in- 
clined to  believe,  that  the  garb  of  antiquity  would  but  ill 
become  the  elegance  of  Pope,  or  the  spirit  of  Dryden.— 
Warton. 


JELL  A. 


95 


CELMONDE,  BIRTHA. 


BIRTHA. 

Celmonde ! yee  seynctes ! I hope  thou  haste 
goode  newes. 


CELMONDE. 

The  hope  ys  loste ; for  heavie  newes  prepare. 

BIRTHA. 

Is  JEUa  Welle  ? 

CELMONDE. 

Hee  lyves ; and  stylle  male  use 
The  behylte  blessynges  of  a future  yeare. 


BIRTHA. 

Whatte  heavie  tydynge  thenne  have  I to  feare  ? 
Of  whatte  mischaunce  dydste  thou  so  latelie  saie  ? 

CELMONDE. 

For  heavie  tydynges  swythyn  no  we  prepare. 
-^Ua  sore  wounded  ys,  yn  bykerous  fraie ; 

In  Wedecester’s  wallid  toune  he  lyes. 

BIRTHA. 

0 mie  agroted  breast  ! 


CELMONDE. 

Wythoute  your  syghte,  he  dyes. 


96 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


BIRIHA. 

Wylie  Birtha’s  presence  ethe  her  Ella’s  payne  ? 
I flie ; newe  wynges  doe  from  mie  sclioulderrs 
sprynge. 


CELMONDE. 

Mie  stede  wydhoute  wylle  deftelie  beere  us  tway  ne. 

BIRTHA. 

Oh  ! I wyll  flie  as  wynde,  and  no  waie  lynge  ; 

Sweftlie  caparisons  for  rydynge  brynge ; 

I have  a mynde  wynged  wythe  the  levyn 
ploome. 

0 JElla,  ^lla ! dydste  thou  kenne  the  stynge, 

The  whyche  doeth  canker  ynne  mie  hartys 
roome, 

Thou  wouldste  see  playne  thieselfe  the  gare  to 
bee ; 

Aryse,  uponne  thie  love,  and  flie  to  meeten  me 

CELMONDE. 

The  stede,  on  whyche  I came,  ys  swefte  as  ayre  ; 

Mie  servytoures  doe  wayte  mee  nere  the  wode  ; 

Swythynne  wythe  mee  unto  the  place  repayre ; 

To  ^lla  I wylle  gev  you  conducte  goode. 

Youre  eyne,  alyche  a baulme,  wylle  staunche 
hys  bloode, 

Holpe  oppe  hys  woundes,  and  yev  hys  harte 
alle  cheere  ; 


^LLA. 


97 


Dponne  your  eyne  he  lioldes  hys  lyvelyhode  ; 
You  doe  hys  spry  te,  and  alle  hys  pleasaunce  here. 
Comme,  letters  awaie,  albeytte  ytte  ys  moke, 
Yette  love  wille  be  a tore  to  tourne  to  feere 
nyghtes  smoke. 


BIRTHA. 

Albeytte  unwears^  dyd  the  welkynn  rende, 
Reyne  alyche  fallynge  ryvers,  dyd  ferse  bee, 
Erthe  wythe  the  ayre  enchafed  dyd  contende, 
E very  chon  e breathe  of  wynde  wythe  plagues 
dyd  slee, 

Yette  I to  Ella’s  eyne  eftsoones  woulde  flee ; 
Albeytte  hawethornes  dyd  mie  fleshe  enseme, 
Owlettes,wy  the  scrychynge,  shakeynge  everyche 
tree. 

And  water-neders  wrygglynge  yn  eche  streme, 
Yette  woulde  I flie,  ne  under  coverte  stale, 
Botte  seke  mie  ^lla  owte ; brave  Celmonde, 
leade  the  wale. 

A Wode. 

HURRA,  DANES. 

HURRA. 

Heere  ynn  yis  forreste  lette  us  watche  for  pree, 

* Tempests.  The  interpretation  of  this  word  rests  solely 
9n  the  testimony  of  Chatterton.  It  is  used  again  in  the  third 
tclogue. 

VOL.  II. 


7 


98 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Bewreckeynge  on  oure  foemenne  oure  ylle 
warre  ; 

Whatteverre  schalle  be  Englysch  wee  wylle 
slea, 

Spreddynge  our  ugsomme  rennome  to  afarre. 

Ye  Dacyanne  menne,  gyff  Dacyanne  menne 
yee  are, 

Lette  nete  botte  blodde  suffycyle  for  yee 
bee ; 

On  everich  breaste  yn  gorie  letteres  scarre, 

Whatt  sprytes  you  have,  and  howe  those  spry  tea 
maie  dree. 

-Aaid  gyf  yee  gette  awaie  to  Denmarkes 
shore, 

Eftesoones  we  will  retourne,  and  wanquished 
bee  ne  moere. 

The  battelle  loste,  a battelle  was  yndede ; 

Note  queedes  hemselfes  culde  stonde  so  harde 
a fraie ; 

Oure  verie  armoure,  and  oure  heaulmes  dyd 
blede. 

The  Dacyannes  sprytes,  lyche  dewe  drops 
fledde  awaie, 

Ytte  was  an  ^lla  dyd  commaunde  the  daie ; 

Ynn  spyte  of  foemanne,  I moste  saie  hys 
myghte ; 

Botte  wee  ynn  hynd-lettes  blodde  the  loss  wylle 
paie, 

Brynnynge,  thatte  we  knowe  howe  to  wynne 
yn  fyghte  ; 


^LLA. 


09 


Wee  wylle,  lyke  wylfes  enloosed  from  chaynes, 
destroie ; — 

Oure  armoures — wynter  nyghte  sliotte  oute  the 
daie  of  joie. 

Whene  swefte-fote  tyme  doe  rolle  the  daie 
alonge, 

Somme  hamlette  scalle  onto  oure  fhuyrie 
brende  ; 

Brastynge  alyche  a rocke,  or  mountayne  stronge, 

The  talle  chyrche-spyre  upon  the  grene  shalle 
bende  ; 

Wee  wylle  the  walles,  and  aunty  ante  tourrettes 
rende, 

Pete  everych  tree  whych  goldyn  fruyte  doe 
beere, 

Downe  to  the  goddes  the  ownerrs  dhereof  sende, 

Besprengynge  alle  abrode  saide  warre  and  bloddie 
weere. 

Botte  fyrste  to  yynder  oke-tree  wee  wylle  flie ; 

A^nd  thence  wylle  yssue  owte  onne  all  yatte  com- 
meth  hie. 

Anodher  parte  of  the  Woode. 

CELMONDE,  BIRTHA. 

BIRTHA. 

Thys  merkness  doe  affraie  mie  wommanns 
breaste. 

Howe  sable  ys  the  spreddynge  skie  arrayde! 


100 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Hallie  the  bordeleire,  who  lyves  to  reste, 

Ne  ys  att  nyghtys  flemynge  hue  dysmayde ; 
The  starres  doe  scantillie  the  sable  brayde  ; 
Wyde  ys  the  sylver  lemes  of  comforte  wove ; 
Speke,  Celinonde,  does  ytte  make  thee  notte 
afrayde  ? 


CELMONDE. 

Merker  the  nyghte,  the  fitter  tyde  for  love. 


BIRTHA. 

Saiest  thou  for  love  ? ah  ! love  is  far  awaie. 

F aygne  would  I see  once  moe  the  roddie  lemes  of 
daie. 

CELMONDE. 

Love  male  bee  nie,  woulde  Birtha  calle  ytte 
here. 

BIRTHA. 

How,  Celmonde,  dothe  thou  mene  ? 


CELMONDE. 

Thys  Celmonde  menes  : 

No  leme,  no  eyne,  ne  mortalle  manne  appere, 

Ne  lyghte,  an  acte  of  love  for  to  bewreene ; 

Nete  in  thys  forreste,  botte  thys  tore,  dothe 
sheene. 

The  whych,  potte  oute,  do  leave  the  whole  yn 
nyghte ; 

See ! ho  we  the  brauncynge  trees  doe  here  en 
tvvyne. 


^LLA. 


101 


Makejnge  thys  bower  so  pleasynge  to  the 
syghte  ; 

Thys  was  for  love  fyrste  made,  and  heere  ytt 
stondes, 

riiatte  hereynne  lovers  male  enlyncke  yn  true 
loves  bondes. 


BIRTIIA. 

Celmonde,  speake  whatte  thou  menest,  or  alse 
mie  thoughtes 

Perchaunce  male  robbe  thie  honestie  so  fay  re. 

CELMONDE. 

Then  here,  and  knowe,  hereto  I have  you 
broughte, 

Mie  longe  hydde  love  unto  you  to  make  clere. 

BIRTHA. 

Oh  heaven  and  earthe ! whatte  ys  ytt  I doe 
heare  ? 

Am  I betraste  ? where  ys  my  JElla,  saie  ! 

CELMONDE. 

0 ! do  nete  no  we  to  ^lla  syke  love  here, 

Botte  geven  some  onne  Celmondes  hedde. 

BIRTHA. 

Awaie ! 

1 wylle  be  gone,  and  groape  mie  passage  oute, 
Albeytte  neders  stynges  mie  legs  do  twyne  aboiite. 


102 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


CELMONDE. 

Nowe  bie  the  seynctes  I wylle  notte  lette  thee 
goe,  • 

Ontylle  thou  doeste  raie  brendynge  love  am  ate. 

Those  eyne  have  caused  Celmonde  myckle  woe, 

Yenne  lette  yer  smyle  fyrst  take  hymm  yn  re- 
grate. 

0 ! didst  thou  see  mie  breastis  troblous  state, 

Theere  love  doth  harrie  up  mie  joie,  and  ethe ! 

1 wretched  bee,  beyonde  the  hele  of  fate, 

Gyff  Birtha  stylle  wylle  make  mie  harte-veynes 

blethe. 

Softe  as  the  sommer  flowreets,  Birtha,  looke, 
Fulle  ylle  I canne  thie  frownes  and  harde  dys- 
pleasaunce  brooke. 

BIRTHA. 

Thie  love  ys  foule ; I woulde  bee  deafe  for  aie, 

Radher  thanne  heere  syche  deslavatie  sedde. 

Swythynne  flie  from  mee,  and  ne  further  saie  ; 

Radher  thanne  heare  thie  love,  I woulde  bee 
dead. 

Yee  seynctes ! and  shal  I wronge  mie  JElla’s 
bedde. 

And  wouldst  thou,  Celmonde,  tempte  me  to  the 
thynge  ? 

Lett  mee  be  gone — alle  curses  onne  thie  hedde 

Was  ytte  for  thys  thou  dydste  a message 
brynge  ? 


^LLA. 


103 


Lette  mee  bo  gone,  thou  manne  of  sable 
liarte ! 

Or  welkjn  and  her  starres  wyll  take  a may  dens 
parte. 


CELMONDE. 

Sythence  you  wylle  notte  lette  mie  suyte  avele, 

Mie  love  wylle  have  yttes  joie,  altho  wythe 
guylte  ; 

Youre  lymbes  shall  bende,  albeytte  strynge  as 
stele ; 

The  merkye  seesonne  wylle  your  bloshes  hylte. 

BIRTHA. 

Holpe,  holpe,  yee  seynctes  ! oh  thatte  mie 
blodde  was  spylte ! 

CELMONDE. 

The  seynctes  att  distaunce  stonde  ynn  tyme  of 
nede. 

Strev  notte  to  goe ; thou  canste  notte,  gyff  thou 
wylte. 

Unto  mie  wysche  bee  kinde,  and  nete  alse 
hede. 


BIRTHA. 

]STo,  foule  bestoykerre,  I wylle  rende  the  ayre, 
Tylle  dethe  do  stale  mie  dynne,  or  some  kynde 
roder  heare. 

Holpe  ! holpe  ! oh  godde ! 


104 


KOWLEY  POEMS. 


CELMONDE,  BIRTHA,  HURRA,  DANES. 

HURRA. 

Ah  ! thatts  a wommanne  cries. 

I kenn  hem  ; saie  who  are  you,  yatte  be 
theere  ? 

CELMONDE. 

Yee  hyndes,  awaie ! orre  bie  thys  swerde  yee 
dies. 

HURRA. 

Thie  wordes  wylle  ne  mie  hartis  sete  affere. 

BIRTHA. 

Save  mee,  oh ! save  me  from  thys  royner  heere ! 

HURRA. 

Stonde  thou  bie  mee ; nowe  saie  thie  name  and 
londe ; 

Or  swythyne  schall  mie  swerde  thie  boddie 
tare. 

CELMONDE. 

Bothe  I wylle  shewe  thee  bie  mie  brondeous 
honde. 

HURRA. 

Besette  hym  rounde,  yee  Danes. 


^LLA. 


105 


CELMONDE. 

Comme  onne,  and  see 

Gyff  mie  strjnge  anlace  maie  bewryen  wbatte  1 
bee. 

\Fyglite  al  aneuste  Celmonde,  meynte  Danes  he 
sleathj  and  faleth  to  HurraJ] 

CELMONDE. 

Oh  ! I forslagen  be  ! ye  Danes,  now  kenne, 

I amme  yatte  Celmonde,  seconde  yn  the 
fyghte, 

Who  dydd,  atte  Watcliette,  so  forslege  youre 
menne  ; 

I fele  myne  eyne  to  swymme  yn  oBterne 
nyghte 

To  her  be  kynde.  \_Dieth, 


HURRA. 

Thenne  felle  a wordhie  knyghte. 
Saie,  who  bee  you  ? 

BIRTHA. 

I am  greate  Ella’s  wyfe. 

HURRA. 

Ah! 

BIRTHA. 

Gyff  anenste  hym  you  harboure  foule  despyte, 
Nowe  wythe  the  lethal  anlace  take  mie  lyfe, 


106 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Mie  thankes  I ever  onne  you  wylle  bestowe. 
From  ewbryce  you  mee  pygbte,  the  worste  of 
mortal  woe. 

HURRA. 

I wylle ; ytte  scalle  bee  soe : yee  Dacyansj 
heere. 

Thys  ^lla  havethe  been  oure  foe  for  aie. 
Thorrowe  the  battelle  he  dyd  brondeous  teare, 
Beyng  the  lyfe  and  head  of  everych  fraie  ; 
From  everych  Dacyanne  power  he  won  the 
dale, 

Forslagen  Magnus,  all  our  schippes  ybrente  ; 
Bie  hys  felle  arme  wee  now  are  made  to  straie ; 
The  speere  of  Dacya  he  ynne  pieces  shente  ; 
Whanne  hantoned  barckes  unto  oure  londe  dyd 
comme, 

^lla  the  gare  dheie  sed,  and  wysched  hym  bytter 
dome. 

BIRTHA. 

Mercie ! 

HURRA. 

Bee  stylle. 

Botte  yette  he  ys  a foemanne  goode  and  fayre ; 
Whanne  wee  are  spente,  he  soundethe  the 
forloyne ; 

The  captyves  chayne  he  tosseth  ynne  the  ayre, 
Cheered^  the  wounded  bothe  wythe  bredde 
and  wyne ; 

1 So  in  all  the  copies.  It  should  however  be  ‘ cheereth. 


^LLA. 


107 


Has  hee  notte  untoe  somme  of  you  bynn  dygne  ? 

You  woulde  have  smethd  onne  Wedecestrian 
fielde, 

Botte  hee  behylte  the  slughorne  for  to  cleyne, 

Throwynge  onne  hys  wyde  backe,  hys  wyder 
spreddynge  shielde. 

Whanne  you,  as  caytysned,  yn  fielde  dyd  bee, 
He  oathed  you  to  be  stylle,  and  strayte  didd  sette 
you  free. 

Scalle  wee  forslege  hys  wyfe,  because  he’s 
brave  ? 

Bicaus  hee  fyghteth  for  hys  countryes  gare  ? 

Wylie  hee,  who  havith  bynne  yis  ^Ella’s  slave, 

Robbe  hym  of  whatte  percase  he  holdith 
deere  ? 

Or  scalle  we  menne  of  mennys  sprytes  appere, 

Doeynge  hym  favoure  for  hys  favoure  donne, 

Swefte  to  hys  pallace  thys  damoiselle  here, 

Bewrynne  oure  case,  and  to  oure  waie  be 
gonne  ? 

The  last  you  do  approve  ; so  lette  ytte  bee ; 
Damoyselle,  comme  awaie ; you  safe  scalle  bee 
wythe  mee. 


BIRTHA. 

A1  blessynges  male  the  seynctes  unto  yee  gyve  ! 
A1  pleasaunce  male  youre  longe-straughte 
lyvynges  bee ! 

^lla,  whanne  knowynge  thatte  bie  you  I lyve. 


108 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Wylie  thyncke  too  smalle  a guyfte  the  londe 
and  sea. 

O Celmonde  ! I male  deftlie  rede  by  thee, 
Whatte  ille  betydethe  the  enfouled  kynde  ; 
Male  ne  thie  cross-stone  of  thie  cryme  bewree  ! 
Maie  alle  menne  ken  thie  valoure,  fewe  tlue 
mynde  ! 

Soldyer ! for  syke  thou  arte  ynn  noble  fraie, 

I wylle  thie  goinges  ’tende,  and  doe  thou  lede  the 
waie. 

HURRA. 

The  mornynge’  gyns  alonge  the  easte  to  sheene  ; 
Darklinge  the  lyghte  doe  onne  the  waters  plaie  ; 
The  feynte  rodde  leme  slowe  creepeth  oere  the 
greene, 

Toe  chase  the  merkyness  of  nyghte  awaie  ; 
Swifte  flie  the  bowers  thatte  wylle  brynge  oute 
the  daie  ; 

The  softe  dewe  falleth  onne  the  greeynge 
grasse ; 

The  shepster  mayden,  dyghtynge  her  arraie, 
Scante  sees  her  vysage  yn  the  wavie  glasse ; 
Bie  the  fulle  daylieghte  wee  scalle  ^lla  see, 
Dr  Bry Stowes  wallyd  towne  ; damoyselle,  followe 


mee. 


^LLA. 


109 


At  Brystowe, 

^LLA  AND  SERVITOURES. 

^LLA. 

Tys  nowe  fulle  morne ; I thoughten,  bie  laste 
njghte 

To  have  been  heere  ; mie  stede  ban  notte  mie 
love  ; 

Thjs  ys  mie  pallace  ; lette  mie  hyndes  alyglite, 

Whylste  I goe  oppe,  and  wake  mie  slepeynge 
dove. 

Staie  here,  mie  hyndlettes ; I shal  goe  above. 

Nowe,  Birtha,  wyll  thie  loke  enhele  mie 
spryte, 

Thie  smyles  unto  mie  woundes  a baulme  wylle 
proove ; 

Mie  ledanne  boddie  wylle  bee  sette  aryghte. 

Egwina,  haste,  and  ope  the  portalle  doore, 

Tatte  I on  Birtha’s  breste  maie  thynke  of  warre 
ne  more. 


-ffiLLA,  EGWINA. 
EGWINA. 

Oh  ^lla!' 


^ Nothing  can  be  more  in  the  manner  of  modern  tragedy 
than  the  following  dialogue,  to  mention  no  other,  consisting 
’♦f  exclamations,  short  and  hasty  sentences,  sudden  tnmsi- 


110 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


^LLA. 

Ah ! that  semmlykeene'  to  mee 
Speeketh  a legendary  tale  of  woe. 


EGWINA. 


Birtha  is  — 


iELLA. 

Whatt?  where?  how?  sale,  whatte of  shee ? 


EGWINA. 

Gone  — 

iELLA. 

Gone  ! ye  goddes  ! 


EGWINA. 

Alas  ! ytte  ys  toe  true. 
Yee  seynctes,  hee  dies  awaie  wythe  myckle 
woe! 

-^lla  1 what  ? Mllsi  I oh  ! hee  ly  ves  agen  I 

AiLLA. 

Cal  mee  notte  ^lla ; I am  hymme  ne  moe. 


t ons,  and  frequent  interruption.  A better  scene  for  showing 
the  shrug  and  start  to  the  greatest  advantage,  never  appeared 
fit  Drury-lane  theatre. — Warton. 

> Appearance.  In  other  places  it  is  written  * semlykeed.* 
It  seems  plain  to  me,  that  both  these  words  owe  their  original 
to  the  following  article  in  Kersey,  ‘ Semeliheed,  (0.)  seem* 
Uness,  comeliness.’ — Tyrwhitt. 


iELLA. 


Ill 


Where  ys  slice  gon  avvaie  ? ah ! speake  ! how  ? 
when  ? 


EGWINA. 


I will. 

iELLA. 


Caparyson  a score ‘of  stedes;  flie,  flie! 
Where  ys  shee  ? swythynne  speeke,  or  instante 
thou  shake  die. 


EGWINA. 

Stylle  thie  loud  rage,  and  here  thou  whatte  I 
knowe. 

A£LLA. 

Oh ! speek. 

EGWINA. 

Lyche  prymrose,  droopynge  wythe  the  heavie 
rayne, 

Laste  nyghte  I lefte  her,  droopynge  with  her 
wiere. 

Her  love  the  gare,  thatte  gave  her  harte  syke 
peyne  — 


^LLA. 

Her  love  ! to  whomme  ? 

EGWINA. 

To  thee,  her  spouse,  alleyne. 

As  ys  mie  hentylle  everyche  morne  to  goe, 

I wente,  and  oped  her  chamber  doore  ynn 
twayne, 


112 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Botte  found  her  notte,  as  I was  wont  to  doe ; 

Thanne  alle  arounde  the  pallace  I djd  seere, 

Botte  culde  (to  mie  hartes  woe)  ne  fynde  her 
anie  wheere. 

iELLA. 

Thou  lyest,  foul  hagge  ! thou  lyest ; thou  art 
her  ayde 

To  chere  her  louste ; — botte  noe  ; ytte  cannotte 
bee. 

EGWINA. 

Gyff  trouthe  appear  notte  inne  whatte  I have 
sayde, 

Drawe  forthe  thie  anlace  swythyn,  thanne  mee 
slea. 

iELLA. 

Botte  yette  ytte  muste,  ytte  must  bee  soe  ; I see, 

Sbee  wythe  somme  loustie  paramoure  ys  gone  ; 

Itte  moste  bee  soe — oh  ! howe  ytte  wracketh 
mee  ! 

]\Iie  race  of  love,  mie  race  of  lyfe  ys  ronne ; 

No  we  rage,  and  brondeous  storm,  and  tempeste 
comme  ; 

Nete  lyvynge  upon  erthe  can  now  enswote  mie 
domme. 

^LLA,  EGWINA,  SERVYTOURE. 

SERVYTOURE. 

Loveide ! I am  aboute  the  trouthe  to  saie. 

Laste  nyghte,  fulle  late  I dydde  retourne  tc 
reste. 


^LLA. 


113 


As  to  rnie  chamber  I djdde  bende  mie  waie, 

To  Birtha  one  hys  name  and  place  addreste ; 
Downe  to  hym  camme  shee  ; butte  thereof  the 
reste 

I ken  ne  matter ; so,  mie  hommage  made — 

iELLA. 

0 ! speake  ne  moe  ; mie  harte  flames  yn  yttes 

heste ; 

1 once  was  ^lla ; nowe  bee  notte  yttes  shade. 
Hanne  alle  the  fuirie  of  mysfortunes  wylle 

) illen  onne  mie  benned  headde  I hanne  been 
^lla  stylle. 

Thys  alleyn  was  unburled  of  alle  mie  spryte  : 
Mie  honnoure,  honnoure,  frownd  on  the  dolce  ^ 
wynde, 

Thatte  steeked  on  ytte  : nowe  wyth  rage  Im 
pyghte  ; 

A brondeous  unweere  ys  mie  engyned  mynde. 
Mie  hommeur  yette  somme  drybblet  joie  maie 
fynde, 

To  the  Danes  woundes  I wylle  another  yeve  ; 
Whanne  thos  mie  rennome  and  mie  peace  ys 
rynde, 

1 Soft,  gentle.  — If  Chatterton  did  not  glean  this  word  from 
some  music-book  that  fell  in  his  way,  it  would  be  a satisfac- 
tory proof  that  he  used  Bailey’s  Dictionary  in  constructing 
his  forgery,  as  ‘ dolce  ’ is  not  to  be  found  in  Kersey  or  Speght. 
From  his  father’s  musical  turn,  however,  the  former  is  most 
Ukely. 

VOL.  II. 


8 


114 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Itte  were  a recrandize  to  thyncke  toe  lyve ; 
Mie  huscarles,  untoe  everie  asker  telle, 

Gyffe  noblie  JElla  lyved,  as  noble  JElla  felle. 

\_Stabbeth  hys  breste. 

SERVITOURE. 

.^lla  ys  sleene  ; the  flower  of  Englonde’s 
marrde ! 


^LLA. 

Be  stylle  : stythe  lette  the  chyrches  rynge  mi'e 
knelle. 

Call  hyther  brave  Coernyke  ; he,  as  warde 
Of  thys  mie  Brystowe  castle,  wylle  doe  welle. 

\Knelle  ryngeth^ 


.£LLA,  EGWINA,  SERVYTOURE,  COERNYKE. 
^LLA. 

Thee  I ordeyne  the  warde  ; so  alle  maie 
telle. 

I have  botte  lyttel  tym  to  dragge  thys  lyfe ; 
Mie  lethal  tale,  alyche  a lethalle  belle, 

Dynne  yn  the  eares  of  her  I wyschd  mie 
wyfe ! 

Botte,  ah  ! shee  maie  bee  fayre. 

EGWINA. 

Yatte  shee  moste  bee. 


iELLA. 


115 


iELLA. 

A-h  ! saie  notte  soe ; yatte  worde  woulde  -^lla 
dobblie  slee. 


-ffiLLA,  EGWINA,  SERVYTOURE,  COERNYKE, 
BIRTHA,  HURRA. 

A* 

Ah ! Birtha  here  1 


BIRTHA. 

Whatte  dynne  ys  thys  ? whatte  menes  yis  . 
leathalle  knelle  ? 

Where  ys  mie  -dElla  ? speeke ; where  ? howe 
ys  hee  ? 

Oh  Ai^lla ! art  thou  yanne  aly ve  and  welle  ! 

^LLA. 

I lyve  yndeed ; botte  doe  notte  lyve  for  thee. 

BIRTHA. 

Whatte  menes  mie  -^lla  ? 

-ELLA.  ♦ 

Here  mie  meneynge  see. 
Thie  foulness  urged  mie  honde  to  gyve  thys 
wounde, 

Ytte  mee  unsprytes 


116 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


BIRTHA. 

Ytte  hathe  unspryted  Diee. 

^LLA. 

Ah  heavens  ! mie  Birtha  fallethe  to  the 
grounde  ! 

Botte  yette  I am  a manne,  and  so  wylle  bee. 

HURRA. 

iElla ! I amme  a Dane ; botte  yette  a friende  to 
thee. 

Thys  damoyselle  I founde  wythynne  a woode, 

Strevynge  fulle  harde  anenste  a burled  swayne ; 

I sente  hym  myrynge  ynne  mie  compheeres 
blodde, 

Celmonde  hys  name,  chief  of  thie  warrynge 
trayne. 

Yis  damoiselle  soughte  to  be  here  agayne ; 

The  whyche,  albeytte  foemen,  wee  dydd  wylle; 

So  here  wee  broughte  her  wythe  you  to  re- 
mayne. 


COERNIKE. 

Yee  nobylle  Danes ! wythe  goulde  I wyll  you 
fylle. 

iELLA. 

Birtha,  mie  lyfe  ! mie  love  ! oh  ! she  ys  fayre. 
W'hatte  faultes  coulde  Birtha  have ; whatte  faultes 
could  ^lla  feare  ? 


MLLA. 


117 


BJRTHA. 

Amm  I yenne  tliyne  ? I cannotte  blame  tbie 
feere. 

Botte  doe  reste  mee  uponne  mie  Ella’s  brea^te; 
I wylle  to  thee  bewryen  the  woefulle  gai*e. 
Celmonde  dyd  comme  to  mee  at  tyme  of  reste. 
Wordeynge  for  mee  to  flie,  att  your  requeste, 
To  Watchette  towne,  where  you  deceasynge 
laie  ; 

I wyth  hym  fledde  ; thro’  a murke  wode  we 
preste, 

Where  hee  foule  love  unto  mie  eares  dyd  saie : 
The  Danes — 

iELLA. 

Oh  ! I die  contente. — \Dieth, 

BIRTIIA. 

Oh  ! ys  mie  ^lla  dedde  ? 
Oh!  I wyll  make  hys  grave  mie  vyrgyn  spousal 
bedde.  \Birtha  feyncteth, 

COERNYKE. 

Whatte  ? -^lla  deadde  1 and  Birtha  dyynge 
toe  1 

Soe  falles  the  fayrest  flourettes  of  the  j)layne. 
Who  canne  unply te  the  wurchys  heaven  car 
doe, 

Or  who  untweste  the  role  of  sliappe  yn  twayiie  ? 


118 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


-®Ua,  thie  rennome  was  thie  onlie  gayne  ; 

For  yette,  thie  pleasaunce,  and  thie  joie  was 
loste, 

Thie  countrymen  shall  rere  thee  on  the  playne, 

A pyle  of  carnes,  as  anie  grave  can  boaste  : 

Further,  a just  amede  to  thee  to  bee, 

Inne  heaven  thou  synge  of  Godde,  on  erthe  welle 
synge  of  thee.* 

* The  Tragedy  of  ^lla  with  the  Epistle,  Letter,  and  En- 
troductionne,  was  originally  printed  from  a folio  MS.  in 
Chatterton’s  handwriting,  furnished  by  Mr.  Catcott,  in  the 
beginning  of  which  he  has  written  “ Chatterton’s  transcript, 
1769.” 


ADDITIONAL  NOTES  TO  MLLA. 


L “ Playes  made  from  Jiallie  tales  I holde  unmeeie^"* 

Epistle  to  Canynge,  page  29. 

It  is  well  known  to  every  searcher  into  our  ancient  stage, 
that  the  miserable  interludes,  even  of  the  decline  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  are  infinitely  subordinate  to  every  other  spe- 
cies of  poetry  then  subsisting:  that  they  are  utterly  destitute 
of  contrivance,  character,  sentiment,  and  even  of  common 
decorum.  The  truth  is,  the  tragedy  of  ^lla,  to  which  I will 
add  the  imperfect  tragedy  of  Godwyn,  in  which  is  the  fine 
Ode  on  Freedom,  is  indebted  to  the  Grecian  school,  revived  in 
the  eighteenth  century.  Both  are  the  effusions  of  a young 
mind,  warm  from  studying  Mason’s  Elfrida  and  Caractacus. 

It  is  another  unsurmountable  objection  to  the  antiquity  and 
authenticity  of  ^lla,  that  the  subject  is  historical  or  civil 
Representations  of  religious  subjects,  were  only  fashionable 
in  the  reign  of  Edward  the  Fourth.  And  these,  exclusive  of 
the  subject,  by  no  means  resembled  what  we  call  a play. 
They  made  a part  of  the  great  drama  of  superstition.  Row- 
ley,  as  a priest,  was  very  unlikely  to  have  begun  this  hetero- 
dox innovation,  and  to  have  been  the  first  to  compose  a play 
not  religious.  The  pious  mayor  of  Bristol  never  would  have 
patronized  so  profane  a confessor.  Churches  were  our  chief 
theatres  before  the  Reformation  : and  the  dygne  maistre 
Canynge,  the  builder  of  a church,  would  have  more  natur- 
ally employed  the  dramatic  talents  of  Rowley,  to  decorate  his 
new  edifice  with  the  exhibition  of  a splendid  Mystery.  If 
Rowley  had  penetration  and  taste,  yet  he  had  caution,  he  had 
prudence,  and  a reverence  for  his  establishment.  But  Row- 
ley  proceeds  still  further.  He  openly  defends  his  new  at- 
tempt, not  in  a palliative  apology,  but  in  a peremptory 
declaration  of  his  opinion  of  the  absurdity  of  scriptural 
plays. 

“ Playes  made  from  hallie  tales  I holde  unmeete, 

Lette  somme  greate  storie  of  a manne  be  songe.” 


120 


KOWLEY  rOEMS. 


This  was  too  bold  and  too  refined  a philosophy  for  a priest 
of  the  fifteenth  century.  The  first  line  is  absolute  heresy, 
and  would  have  exposed  the  writer  to  the  censure  of  the 
church.  But  this  passage  is  perfectly  consistent  with  the 
general  spirit  and  turn  of  the  epistle  in  which  it  appears: 
and  which,  according  to  the  Dean  of  Exeter,  contains  “ speci- 
mens of  the  author’s  abilities  in  judicious  criticism,  and 
pleasant  raillery,  in  neither  of  which  does  he  appear  at  all 
inferior  to  Pope.”  This  is  an  unlucky  concession. — Warton. 

II.  “.4s  Severn's  hyger  lyghethe  banckes  of  sonde f ^c. 

Page  75. 

The  following  is  Drayton’s  ‘picturesque  description’  of 
the  ‘ hygra  ’ to  which  Dean  Milles  alludes  in  the  note  to  this 
passage. 

“ Shut  up  in  narrower  bounds  the  Higre  wildly  raves. 

And  frights  the  straggling  flocks,  the  neighboring  shores 
to  fly. 

Afar  as  from  the  main  it  comes  with  hideous  cry. 

And  on  the  angry  front  the  curled  foam  doth  bring: 

The  billows  ’gainst  the  banks  when  fiercely  it  doth  fling, 
Hurls  up  the  slimy  ooze,  and  makes  the  scaly  brood 
Leap  madding  to  the  land  affrighted  from  the  flood; 
O’erturns  the  toiling  barge,  whose  steersman  doth  not 
launch. 

And  thrusts  the  furrowing  beak  into  her  ireful  paunch.” 
Poly-olbion,  Bk.  vii.  1.  10 — 18. 

III.  It  is  asked,  how  Chatterton  could  have  gained  a 
knowledge  of  the  raven-standard  of  the  Danes,  [p.  76,  v.  14,] 
or  that  the  raven  was  revered  by  that  people?  We  have 
these  instances  in  the  tragedy  of  .^lla,  a Danish  story: — 

“ The  Danes,  wythe  terroure  rulynge  at  their  hedde. 

Threw  downe  their  banner  talle,  and  lyche  a raven  fleddeP 
Again,  the  Danish  soldiers  say, 

“ Onne,  .<Ella,  onn,  we  long  for  bloddie  fraie, 

We  longe  to  heare  the  raven,”  &c. 

And  the  Danish  leader  ^Ella  says, 

“ Thanne,  whanne  the  ravenn  crokes  upomie  the  playne, 
Oh  lette  ytt  be  the  knelle  to  myghtie  Dacia  as  slayne.” 


iELLA. 


121 


And  the  chorus  says, 

“ Harke  the  ravenne  flaps  hys  wing.” 

Mr.  Bryant  supposes  that  this  piece  of  recondite  northern 
aiythology  was  inaccessibly  shut  up  in  Spelman,  Asser,  the 
Saxon  Chronicle,  Pontanus,  and  Glaus  Wormius.”  But 
Chatterton  seems  to  have  had  his  intelligence  from  Thom- 
son’s Masque  of  Alfred^  a common  play-book,  where  the 
raven-standard  of  the  Danes  is  thus  poetically  described  ; — 

Is  not  yon  pictured  raven 

Their  famous  magic  standard  ? Emblem  fit 

To  speak  the  savage  genius  of  the  people. 

*Tis  the  same, 

Wrought  by  the  sisters  of  the  Danish  king, 

Of  furious  Ivar,  in  a midnight  hour; 

While  the  sick  moon,  at  their  enchanted  song. 

Wrapt  in  pale  tempest,  labour’d  through  the  clouds: 
The  demons  of  destruction  then,  they  say, 

- Were  all  abroad,  and  mixing  with  their  woof 
Their  baleful  power:  the  sisters  ever  sung, 

“ Shake,  standard,  shake  this  ruin  on  our  foes ! ” 

And  the  hermit  says, 

“ The  raven  droops  his  wing — and,  hark ! the  trumpet,”  &c. 
Let  me  add,  that  Chatterton’s  idea  of  writing  a play  on  a 
Danish  story  might  have  been  suggested  by  this  very  masque. 
He  is  allowed  to  have  been  a reader  of  Thomson.  It  is  also 
to  be  observed,  that  both  dramas  are  built  on  the  same  point 
of  the  Danish  history  in  England,  the  landing  of  the  Danes 
in  Somersetshire.  One  of  Chatterton’s  persons  is  ‘ Hurra.’ 
Mr.  Bryant  says,  that  the  proper  name  ‘ Hubba  ’ might  by  an 
unexperienced  transcriber  be  easily  taken  for  ‘ Hurra.’  It  is 
very  true,  that  Hubba  is  the  right  reading,  as  Chatterton 
well  knew,  from  these  lines  in  his  favourite  Thomson’s 
Masque : 

“ The  valiant  Hubba  bites  the  bloody  field. 

With  twice  six  hundred  Danes  around  him  strow’d.” 
Chatterton,  I presume,  might  have  his  reasons  for  converting 
Hubba’  into  ‘ Hurra.’ — Warton. 


h'' 


\ 


-^..'.v.'..:  ;.:  U-!  ■ .•  -v'. 

, '.r;rvr?i>'  ' ^ 


. . i U™!:, 


’ -f:.  inr*if;riljfif^r;  ;l  hmn  i33^ 


" r>.i'  ' 

■ ...  • . ■ . J>,F-i:i  ' 


G 0 D D W Y N, 

A 

TRAGEDIE, 

Bie  THOMAS  ROWLEIE. 


This  fragment  (the  manuscript  in  Chatterton’s  handwrit- 
ing, mentioned  in  page  118),  purports  likewise  to  be  the  com- 
position of  Thomas  Rowley.  The  very  existence  of  any  such 
person  as  Rowley  is  questioned,  and  on  good  ground.  He  is 
not  so  much  as  noticed  by  William  of  Worcestre,  who  lived 
nearly  about  the  supposed  time  of  Rowley,  was  himself  of 
Bristol,  and  makes  frequent  mention  of  Canynge.  Bale,  who 
lived  two  hundred  years  nearer  to  Rowley  than  we,  and  who 
by  unwearied  industry  dug  a thousand  bad  authors  out  of 
obscurity,  has  never  taken  the  least  notice  of  such  a person ; 
nor  yet  Leland,  Pitts,  or  Tanner,  nor  indeed  any  other  liter- 
ary biographer.  That  no  copies  of  any  of  his  works  should 
exist,  but  those  deposited  in  RedclifF  church,  is  also  an  unac- 
countable circumstance  not  easy  to  be  surmounted. — Dr 
Gregory. 


PROLOGUE. 


MADE  BIE  MAISTRE  WILLIAM  CANYNGE. 

Whylomme  bie  pensmenne  moke  ungentle 
name 

Have  upon  Goddwynne  Erie  of  Kente  bin  layde, 
Dherebie  benymmynge  hymme  of  faie  and 
fame ; 

Dnliart  divinistres  baveth  saide, 

Thatte  he  was  knowen  toe  noe  hallie  wurche  ; 
Botte  thys  was  all  hys  faulte,  he  gyfted  ne  the 
churche. 

The  aucthoure  of  the  piece  whiche  we  enacte, 
Albeytte  a clergyon,  trouthe  wyll  wrytte. 

Inne  drawynge  of  hys  menne  no  wytte  ys 
lackte ; 

Entyn  a k^mge  mote  bee  full  pleased  to  nyghte. 
Attende,  and  marcke  the  partes  nowe  to  be 
done ; 

Wee  better  for  toe  doe  do  champyon^  anie  onne, 

I Challenge.  The  word  ‘ champyon  ’ is  not  used  as  a verb 
by  any  writer  before  Shakspeare. — Tyrwhitt. 


GODDWYN, 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Harolde,  bie  T.  Rowleie,  the  Autithoure. 
Goddwyn,  Johan  de  Iscamme. 

Elwarde,  Syer  Thybbot  Gorges. 

Alstan,  Syrr  Alan  de  Vere. 

Kynge  Edwarde  Mastre  Willy  am  Canynge. 
Odhers  bie  Knyghtes  Mynstrelles. 


GODDWYN  AND  HAROLDE. 
GODDWYN. 

Harolde ! 

HAROLDS. 

Mie  loverde  1 


GODDWYN. 

0 ! I weepe  to  thyncke, 
What  foemen  riseth  to  ifrete  the  londe. 

Theie  batten  onne  her  flesh,  her  hartes  blonde 
drjncke, 

And  all  ys  graunted  from  the  roieal  honde. 

HAROLDE. 

Lette  notte  thie  agreme  blyn,  ne  aledge  stonde  ; 
Bee  I toe  wepe  ? I wepe  in  teres  of  gore  : 


GODDWYN. 


127 


Am  I betrassed  ? syke  sliulde  mie  burlie  bronde 

Depeyncte  the  wronges  on  hym  from  whom  I 
bore. 

GODDWYN. 

I ken  thie  spryte  ful  welle  ; gentle  thou  art, 

Stringe,  ugsomme,  rou,  as  smethynge  armyes 
seeme ; 

Yett  efte,  I feare,  thie  chefes  toe  grete  a parte, 

And  that  thie  rede  bee  efte  borne  downe  bie 
breme. 

What  tydynges  from  the  kynge ! 

HAROLDE. 

His  Normans  knowe. 

I make  noe  comoheere  of  the  shemrynge  trayne. 

GODDWYN. 

Ah  Harolde ! tis  a syghte  of  myckle  woe. 

To  kenne  these  Normannes  everich  rennome 
gayne. 

What  tydynge  withe  the  foulke  ? 

HAROLDE. 

Stylle  mormorynge  atte  yer  shap,  stylle  toe  the 
kynge 

Theie  rolle  theire  trobbles,  lyche  a sorgie  sea. 

Hane  Englonde  thenne  a tongue,  butte  notte  a 
stynge  ? 

Dothe  alle  compleyne,  yette  none  wylle  ryghted 
bee  ? 


128 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


GODDWYN. 

Awayte  the  tyme,  wlianne  Godde  wylle  sende 
us  ayde. 


HAROLDE. 

No,  we  muste  streve  to  ayde  ourselves  wyth 
powre. 

Whan  Godde  wylle  sende  us  ayde ! tis  fetelie 
prayde. 

Moste  we  thos  calke  awaie  the  lyve-longe 
howre  ? 

Thos  croche  oure  armes,  and  ne  toe  lyve 
dareygne, 

Unburled,  undelievre,  unespryte  ! ^ 

Far  fro  mie  harte  be  fled  thyk  thoughte  of 
peyne. 

He  free  mie  countrie,  or  Ille  die  yn  fyghte. 

GODDWYN. 

Botte  lette  us  wayte  untylle  somme  season 
fytte 

Mie  Kentyshmen,  thie  Summertons  shall  ryse  ; 

Adented  prowess  tc  the  gite  of  witte, 

Agayne  the  argent  horse  shall  daunce  yn  skies. 

Oh  Harolde,  heere  forstraughteynge  wanhope 
lies. 

Englonde,  oh  Englonde,  tis  for  thee  I blethe. 

1 ‘ Unhousell’d,  unanoioted,  unaneal’d! 


GODDWYX, 


129 


Wliylste  Edwarde  to  thie  sonnes  W}dle  nete 
alyse, 

Sliulde  anie  of  thie  sonnes  fele  aughte  of  ethe  ? 

Upponne  the  trone  I sette  thee,  helde  thie 
crowne  ; 

Botte  oh ! twere  hommage  nowe  to  pyghte  thee 
downe. 

Thou  arte  all  preeste,  and  notheynge  of  the 
kynge. 

Thou  arte  all  Norman,  nothynge  of  mie  blodde. 

Know,  ytte  beseies  thee  notte  a masse  to  synge  ; 

Servynge  thie  leegefolcke  thou  arte  servynge 
Godde. 

HAROLDE. 

Then  Ille  doe  heaven  a servyce.  To  the  skyes 

The  dailie  contekes  of  the  londe  ascende. 

The  wyddowe,  fahdrelesse,  and  bondemennes 
cries 

Acheke  the  mokie  aire  and  heaven  astende. 

On  us  the  rulers  doe  the  folcke  depende ; 

Hancelled  from  erthe  these  Normanne  hyndes 
■ shalle  bee  ; 

Lyche  a batten tly  low,  mie  swerde  shalle 
brende  ; 

Lyche  fallynge  softe  rayne  droppes,  I wyll  hem 
slea; 

Wee  wayte  too  longe ; oure  purpose  wylle 
defayte  ; 

Aboune  the  hyghe  empryze,  and  rouze  the  cham- 
pyones  strayte. 

VOL.  II.  9 


130 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


GODDWYN. 

Thie  suster — 

HAROLDE. 

Aye,  I knowe,  she  is  his  queene. 
Albeytte,  dyd  shee  speeke  her  foemen  fayre, 

I wulde  dequace  her  comlie  semlykeene, 

And  foulde  mie  bloddie  anlace  yn  her  hayre. 

GODDWYN. 

Thye  f huir  blyn. 

HAROLDE. 

No,  bydde  the  leathal  mere, 
Upriste  withe  hiltrene  wyndes  and  cause  un- 
kend, 

Beheste  it  to  be  lete  ; so  twylle  appeare, 

Eere  Harolde  hyde  hys  name,  hys  countries 
friende. 

The  gule-steynct  brygandyne,  the  adventayle. 
The  feerie  anlace  brede  shal  make  mie  gare 
prevayle. 

GODDWYN. 

Harolde,  what  wuldest  doe  ? 

HAROLDE. 

Bethyncke  thee  whatt. 
Here  liethe  Englonde,  all  her  drites  unfree. 
Here  liethe  Normans  coupynge  her  hie  lotte, 
Oaltysnyng  everich  native  plante  to  gre, — 


GODDWYN. 


131 


Whatte  woulde  I doe  ? I brondeous  wulde  bem 
slee ; 

Tare  owte  theyre  sable  harte  bie  ryghtefulle 
breme ; 

Tbeyre  deathe  a meanes  untoe  mie  Ijfe  sbulde 
bee, 

Mie  spryte  sbulde  revelle  yn  tbeyr  barte-blodde 
streme. 

Eftsoones  I wyUe  bewryne  mie  ragefulle  ire, 
And  Goddis  anlace  wielde  yn  furie  dyre. 

GODDWYN.  • 

Wbatte  wouldest  tbou  wy tbe  tbe  kynge  ? 

HAROLDE. 

Take  offe  bys  crowne  ; 

Tbe  ruler  of  somme  mynster  bym  ordeyne  ; 

Sette  uppe  som  dygner  than  I ban  pygbte 
downe ; 

And  peace  in  Englonde  sbulde  be  brayd 
agayne. 

GODDWYN. 

No,  lette  tbe  super-bailie  seyncte  kynge  reygne, 

Ande  somme  moe  reded  rule  tbe  untentyff 
reaulme ; 

Kynge  Edwarde,  yn  bys  cortesie,  wylle  deygne 

To  yielde  tbe  spoiles,  and  alleyne  were  tbe 
beaulme : 


132 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Botte  from  mee  harte  bee  everych  tbougbte  of 
gajne, 

Not  anie  of  mie  kin  I wyscbe  bim  to  ordeyhe. 

HAROLDE. 

Tell  me  tbe  meenes,  and  I wylle  boute  ylie 
strayte ; 

Bete  mee  to  slea  mieselfe,  ytte  sballe  be  done. 

GODDWYN. 

To  tbee  I wylle  swytbynne  tbe  menes  unplay te, 

Bie  wbycbe  tbou,  Harolde,  sbalte  be  proved 
mie  sonne. 

1 bave  longe  seen  wbatte  peynes  were  under- 
gon, 

Wbatte  agrames  braunce  out  from  tbe  general 
tree ; 

Tbe  tyme  ys  commynge,  wban  tbe  mollock 
gron 

Drented  of  alle  yts  swolynge  owndes  sballe 
bee ; 

Mie  remedie  is  goode  ; our  menne  shall  ryse  : 
Eftsoons  tbe  Normans  and  owre  agrame  flies. 

HAROLDE. 

1 will  to  tbe  West,  and  gemote  alle  mie 
knygbtes, 

Wytbe  by  lies  that  pancte  for  blodde,  and 
sbeeldes  as  brede 


GODDWYN. 


133 


As  tlie  ybroched  moon,  when  blaunch  she 
dyghtes 

The  wodeland  grounde  or  water-mantled  mede  ; 

Wythe  hondes  whose  myghte  canne  make  the 
doughtiest  blede, 

Who  efte  have  knelte  upon  forslagen  foes, 

Wlioe  wythe  yer  fote  orrests  a castle-stede, 

Who  dare  on  kynges  for  to  bewrecke  yiere 
woes  ; 

Nowe  wylle  the  menne  of  Englonde  haile  the 
daie. 

Whan  Goddwyn  leades  them  to  the  ryghtfulle 
fraie. 


GODDWYN. 

Botte  firste  we’ll  calle  the  loverdes  of  the  West, 

The  erles  of  Mercia,  Conventrie  and  all ; 

The  moe  wee  gayne,  the  gare  wylle  prosper 
beste, 

Wythe  syke  a nomber  wee  can  never  fall. 

HAROLDE. 

True,  so  wee  sal  doe  best  to  lyncke  the  chayne, 

And  alle  attenes  the  spreddynge  kyngedomme 
bynde. 

No  crouched  champyone  wythe  an  harte  moe 
feygne 

Dyd  yssue  owte  the  hallie  swerde  to  fynde, 

Than  I nowe  strev  to  ryd  mie  londe  of  peyne. 


134 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Goddwyn,  what  thanckes  owre  labour es  wylle 
enhepe  ! 

rile  ryse  mie  friendes  unto  the  bloddie  pleyne  i 
I’lle  wake  the  honnoure  thatte  ys  now  aslepe. 
When  wylle  the  chiefes  mete  atte  thie  feastivr^ 
halle, 

That  I wythe  voice  alowde  male  there  upon  ’em 
calle  ? 


GODDWYN. 

Next  eve,  mie  sonne. 

HAROLDE. 

No  we,  Englonde,  ys  the  tyme, 

Whan  thee  or  thie  felle  foemens  cause  moste 
die. 

Thie  geason  wronges  bee  reyne  ynto  theyre 
pryme; 

Now  wylle  thie  sonnes  unto  thie  succoure  flie. 

Alyche  a storm  egederinge  yn  the  skie, 

Tys  fulle  ande  brasteth  on  the  chaper  grounde ; 

Sycke  shalle  mie  fhuirye  on  the  Normans 
flie. 

And  alle  theyre  mittee  menne  be  sleene 
arounde. 

Nowe,  nowe,  wylle  Harolde  or  oppressionne 
falle, 

Ne  moe  the  Englyshmenne  yn  vayne  for  hele  shal 
calle. 


GODDWYN. 


135 


KYNGE  ED  WARD  E AND  HYS  QUEENE, 
QUEENE. 

Botte,  loverde,  whie  so  manie  Normannes  here  ? 
Mee  thynckethe  wee  bee  notte  yn  Englyshe 
londe. 

These  browded  straungers  aJwaie  do  appere, 
Theie  parte  yor  trone,  and  sete  at  your  ryghte 
honde. 


KYNGE. 

Go  to,  goe  to,  you  doe  ne  understonde : 

Theie  yeave  mee  lyffe,  and  dyd  mie  bowkie 
kepe ; 

Theie  dyd  mee  feeste,  and  did  embowre  me 
gronde ; 

To  trete  hem  yll  wulde  lette  mie  kyndnesse 
slepe. 

QUEENE. 

Mancas  you  have  yn  store,  and  to  them  parte  ; 
Youre  leege-folcke  make  moke  dole,  you  have 
theyr  worthe  asterte. 

KYNGE. 

I heste  no  rede  of  you.  I ken  mie  friendes. 
Hallie  dheie  are,  fulle  ready  mee  to  hele. 
Theyre  volundes  are  ystorven  to  self  endes  ; 
No  denwere  yn  mie  breste  I of  them  fele : 


13G 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


I muste  to  prayers ; goe  yn,  and  you  do  wele  ; 
I muste  ne  lose  the  dutie  of  the  dale ; 

Go  inne,  go  ynne,  ande  vie  we  the  azure  rele, 
Fulle  Welle  I wote  you  have  noe  mynde  toe 
praie. 

QUEENE. 

I leeve  youe  to  doe  hommage  heaven-were  ; 

To  serve  yor  leege-folcke  toe  is  doeynge  hom- 
mage there. 


KYNGE  AND  SYR  HUGHE. 


KYNGE. 

Mie  friende,  Syr  Hughe,  whatte  tydynges 
brynges  thee  here  ? 

HUGHE. 

There  is  no  mancas  yn  mie  loverdes  ente ; 

The  hus  dyspense  unpaied  doe  appere  ; 

The  laste  receivure  ys  eftsoones  dispente. 

KYNGE. 

Thenne  guylde  the  Weste. 

HUGHE. 

Mie  loverde,  I dyd  speke 
Tin  toe  the  mitte  Erie  Harolde  of  the  thynge  ; 
He  raysed  hys  honde,  and  smoke  me  onne  the 
cheke, 

Saieynge,  go  beare  thatte  message  to  the  kynge 


GODDWYN. 


137 


KYNGE. 

Arace  hym  of  hys  powere  ; bie  Goddis  worde, 
Ne  moe  thatte  Harolde  shall  y wield  the  erlies 
swerde. 

HUGHE. 

Atte  seeson  fytte,  mie  loverde,  lette  itt  bee  ; 
Botte  no  we  the  folcke  doe  soe  enalse  hys  name, 
Inue  strevvynge  to  slea  hyrnme,  ourselves  we 
slea  ; 

Syke  ys  the  doughtyness  of  hys  grete  fame. 

KYNGE. 

Hughe,  I bethyncke,  thie  rede  ys  notte  to  blame. 
Botte  thou  maiest  fynde  fulle  store  of  marches 
yn  Kente. 

HUGHE. 

Mie  noble  loverde,  Godwynn  ys  the  same  ; 

He  sweeres  he  wylle  notte  swelle  the  Normans 
ent. 

KYNGE. 

Ah  traytoure ! botte  mie  rage  I wylle  com- 
maunde. 

Thou  arte  a Normanne,  Hughe,  a straunger  to  the 
launde. 

Thou  kenneste  ho  we  these  Englysche  erle  doe 
here 

Such  stedness  in  the  yll  and  evylle  thynge, 


138 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Botte  atte  the  goode  theie  hover  jn  denwere, 
Onknowlachynge  gif  thereunto  to  clynge. 

HUGHE. 

Onwordie  syke  a marvelle  of  a kynge ! 

0 Edwarde,  thou  deservest  purer  leege  ; 

To  thee  heie  shulden  al  theire  mancas  brynge ; 
Thie  nodde  should  save  menne,  and  thie  glomb 
forslege. 

1 amme  no  curriedowe,  I lacke  no  wite, 

I speke  whatte  bee  the  trouthe,  and  whatte  all  see 
is  ryghte. 


KYNGE. 

Thou  arte  a hallie  manne,  I doe  thee  pryze. 
Comme,  conune,  and  here  and  hele  mee  yrm 
mie  praires. 

Fulle  twentie  mancas  I wyUe  thee  alise, 

And  twayne  of  hamlettes  to  thee  and  thie 
heyres. 

Soe  shalle  all  Normannes  from  mie  londe  be  fed, 
Theie  alleyn  have  syke  love  as  to  acquyre  yei 
bredde. 


CHORUS. 

Whan  Freedom,  dreste  yn  blodde-steyned 
veste, 

To  everie  knyghte  her  warre-songe  sunge, 
Uponne  her  hedde  wylde  wedes  were 
spredde ; 


GODDWYN. 


139 


A gorie  anlace  bye  her  honge. 

She  daunced  onne  the  heathe  ; 

She  hearde  the  voice  of  deathe  ; 

Pale-eyned  affryghte,  hys  harte  of  syh  er  hue, 

In  vayne  assayled  her  bosomme  to  acale  ; 

She  hearde  onflemed  the  shriekynge  voice  of 
woe, 

And  sadnesse  ynne  the  owlette  shake  the  dale. 
She  shooke  the  burled  speere, 

On  hie  she  jeste  her  sheelde, 

Her  foemen  all  appere, 

And  flizze  alonge  the  feelde. 

Power,  wythe  his  heafod  straught  ynto  the 
skyes, 

Hys  speere  a sonne-beame,  and  hys  sheelde  a 
starre, 

Alyche  twaie  brendeynge  gronfyres  rolls  hys 
eyes, 

Chaftes  with  hys  yronne  feete  and  soundos  to 
war. 

She  syttes  upon  a rocke. 

She  bendes  before  hys  speere, 

She  ryses  from  the  shocke, 
Wieldynge  her  owne  yn  ayre. 

Harde  as  the  thonder  dothe  she  drive  yxte  on, 

Wytte  scillye  wympled  gies  ytte  to  hys  crowne, 

Hys  longe  sharpe  speere,  hys  spreddynge 
sheelde  ys  gon, 

He  fades,  and  fallynge  rolleth  thousandes  down. 

W'ar,  goare-faced  war,  bie  envie  burld,  arist, 


140 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Hys  feerie  heaulme  noddynge  to  the  ayre, 
Tenne  bloddie  arrowes  ynne  hys  streynynge 
fyste — ^ 

« « « « « 

1 We  find  among  these  Poems,  Odes  in  irregular  metres, 
Eclogues  of  the  Pastoral  kind,  and  Discoursing  Tragedies; 
compositions,  for  not  one  of  which  any  example  could  be 
found  in  England  in  the  XVth  century.  Even  in  those  com- 
positions, of  which  the  species  was  not  entirely  unknown,  it 
is  impossible  not  to  observe  a striking  difference  from  the 
other  compositions  of  that  age,  with  respect  to  the  manner  iu 
which  they  are  constructed,  and  the  subjects  to  which  they 
are  applied.  Instead  of  tedious  chronicles  we  have  here 
interesting  portions  of  history,  selected  and  embellished 
with  all  the  graces  of  epic  poetry;  instead  of  devotional 
hymns,  legendary  tales,  and  moralizations  of  scripture,  we 
have  elegant  little  poems  upon  chantie  and  happinesse^  a new 
churchy  a living  worthy^  and  other  occurrences  of  the  moment: 
no  translations  from  the  French,  no  allusions  to  the  popular 
authors  of  the  middle  ages ; nothing,  in  short,  of  what  we  see 
in  so  many  other  writers  about  that  time.  If  Rowley  really 
lived  and  wrote  these  poems  in  the  XVth  century,  he  must 
have  stalked  about,  like  Tiresias  among  the  Homeric  ghosts — 
“ He  only  wise,  the  rest  mere  fleeting  shades.” — 

Tyewhitt. 


ENGLYSH  METAMORPHOSIS:* 


BIE  T.  ROWLEIE. 

BOOKE  1st. 

I. 

Whanne  Scythyannes,  salvage  as  the  wolves 
theie  chacde, 

Peyncted  in  horrowe  formes  hie  nature  dyghte, 

Heckled  yn  beastskyns,  slepte  uponne  the 
waste, 

And  \vyth  the  morneynge  rouzed  the  wolfe  to 
fyghte, 

Swefte  as  descendeynge  lemes  of  roddie  lyghte 

Plonged  to  the  hulstred  bedde  of  laveynge  seas, 

Gerd  the  blacke  mountayn  okes  yn  drybblets 
twighte. 

And  ramie  yn  thoughte  alonge  the  azure  mees, 
^ Whose  eyne  dyd  feerie  sheene,  like  blue-hayred 
defs, 

That  dreerie  hange  upon  Dover’s  emblaunched 
clefs. 

1 This  poem  was  originally  printed  from  a single  sheet  in 
Bhatterton’s  handwriting,  communicated  by  Mr.  Barrett,  who 
'•eceived  it  from  Chatterton. 


142 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


II. 

Soft  boundeynge  over  swelleynge  azure  reles 

The  salvage  natyves  sawe  a shyppe  appere ; 

An  uncouthe  den  were  to  tlieire  bosomme  steles  ; 

Tlieyre  mygbte  ys  knopped  ynne  the  frost  of 
fere. 

The  headed  javlyn  lisseth  here  and  there ; 

Theie  stonde,  theie  ronne,  theie  loke  wythe  get 
eyne; 

The  shyppes  sayle,  boleynge  wythe  the  kyndelie 
ayre, 

Ronneth  to  harbour  from  the  beateynge  bryne  ; 

Theie  dryve  awaie  aghaste,  whanne  to  the 
stronde 

A burled  Trojan  lepes,  wythe  Morglaien  sweerde 
yn  honde. 


III. 

Hymme  followede  eftsoones  hys  compheeres, 
whose  swerdes 

Glestred  lyke  gledeynge  starres  ynne  frostie 
nete, 

Hayleynge  theyre  capytayne  in  chirckynge 
wordes 

Kynge  of  the  lande,  whereon  theie  set  theyre 
fete. 

The  greete  kynge  Brutus  thanne  theie  dyd 
hym  greete, 

Prepared  for  battle,  mareschalled  the  fyghte  ; 


ENGLISH  METAMORPHOSIS. 


143 


Theie  urged  the  warre,  the  natyves  fledde,  as 
flete 

As  Ileaynge  cloudes  that  swymme  belbre  the 
syghte  ; 

Tyll  tyred  wythe  battles,  for  to  ceese  the  fraie, 
Theie  uncted  Brutus  kynge,  and  gave  the  Trojanns 
swaie. 

IV. 

Twayne  of  twelve  years  han  lemed  up  the 
myndes, 

Leggende  the  salvage  unthewes  of  theire  breste, 

Improved  in  mysterk  warre,  and  lymmed  theyre 
kyndes, 

Whenne  Brute  from  Brutons  sonke  to  aeterne 
reste. 

Eftsoons  the  gentle  Locryne  was  possest 

Of  swaie,  and  vested  yn  the  paramente  ; 

Halceld  the  bykrous  Huns,  who  dyd  infeste 

Hys  wakeynge  kynydom  wyth  a foule  intente ; 

As  hys  broade  swerde  oer  Homberres  heade 
was  honge. 

He  tourned  toe  ryver  wyde,  and  roarynge  rolled 
alonge. 

V. 

He  wedded  Gendolyne  of  roieal  sede. 

Upon  whose  countenance  rodde  healthe  was 
spreade  ; 

Bloushing,  alyche  the  scarlette  of  herr  wede. 

She  sonke  to  pleasaunce  on  the  marryage  bedde. 

Kftsoons  her  peacefull  joie  of  mynde  was  fledde  ; 


144 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Elstrid  ametten  with  the  kynge  Locrjne  ; 
Unnombered  beauties  were  upon  her  shedde, 
Moche  fyne,  moche  fayrer  thanne  was  G^en- 
dolyne ; 

The  mornynge  tynge,  the  rose,  the  lillie  floure, 
In  ever  ronneynge  race  on  her  dyd  peyncte  theyre 
powere. 

VI. 

The  gentle  suyte  of  Locryne  gayned  her  love  ; 
Theie  lyved  soft  momentes  to  a swotie  age  ; 
Eft  wandringe  yn  the  coppyce,  delle,  and  grove, 
Where  ne  one  eyne  mote  theyre  disporte  en- 
gage ; 

There  dydde  theie  tell  the  merrie  lovynge  fage, 
Croppe  the  prymrosen  floure  to  decke  theyre 
headde ; 

The  feerie  Gendolyne  yn  woman  rage 
Gemoted  warriours  to  be  wreck  her  bedde ; 
Theie  rose ; ynne  battle  was  greete  Locryne 
sleene ; 

The  faire  Elstrida  fledde  from  the  enchafed 
queene. 

VII. 

A tye  of  love,  a dawter  fayre  she  hanne, 
Whose  boddeynge  morneyng  shewed  a fayre 
daie. 

Her  fadre  Locrynne,  once  an  hailie  manne. 
Wyth  the  fayre  dawterre  dydde  she  haste 
awaie, 

To  wliere  the  western  mittee  pyles  of  claie 


ENGLISH  METAMORPHOSIS. 


145 


Al'ise  ynto  the  cloudes,  and  doe  them  beere  ; 

There  dyd  Elstrida  and  Sabiyna  stale ; 

The  fyrste  trjckde  out  a whyle  yn  warryours 
gratch  and  gear, 

Vyncente  was  she  ycleped,  butte  fulle  soone  fate 
Sente  deathe  to  telle  the  dame  she  was  notte  yn 
regrate. 

VIII. 

The  queene  Gendolyne  sente  a gy aunte 
knyghte, 

Whose  doughtie  heade  swepte  the  emmert* 
leynge  skies, 

To  slea  her  wheresoever  she  shulde  be  pyghte. 

Eke  everychone  who  shulde  her  ele  emprize. 

Swefte  as  the  roareynge  wyndes  the  gy  aunte 
flies, 

Stayde  the  loude  wyndes,  and  shaded  reaulmes 
yn  nyghte, 

Stepte  over  cytties,  on  meint  acres  lies, 

Meeteynge  the  herehaughtes  of  morneynge 
lighte  ; 

Tyll  mooveynge  to  the  weste,  myschaunce  hys 

gye. 

He  thorowe  warriours  gratch  fayre  Elstrid  did 
espie. 

IX. 

He  tore  a ragged  mountayne  from  the  grounde, 

Harried  uppe  noddynge  forrests  to  the  skie, 

Thanne  wythe  a fuirie,  mote  the  erthe  astounde, 

To  meddle  ayre  he  lette  the  mountayne  flie. 
VOL.  II.  10 


146 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


The  flying  wolfynnes  sente  a yelleynge  crie  ; 
Onne  Yyncente  and  Sabryna  felle  the  mount ; 
To  lyve  aBternalle  dyd  theie  eftsoones  die ; 
Thorowe  the  sandie  grave  boiled  up  the  pour* 
pie  founte, 

On  a broade  grassie  playne  was  layde  the  hylle 
Staieynge  the  rounynge  course  of  meint  a limmed 
rylle. 

X. 

The  goddes,  who  kenned  the  actyons  of  the 
wyghte, 

To  leggen  the  sadde  happe  of  twayne  so  fay  re, 
Houton  dyd  make  the  mountaine  bie  theire 
mighte. 

Forth  from  Sabryna  ran  a ryverre  cleere, 
Roarynge  and  rolleynge  on  yn  course  bysmare ; 
From  female  Vyncente  shotte  a ridge  of  stones, 
Eche  syde  the  ryver  rysynge  heavenwere  ; 
Sabrynas  floode  was  helde  ynne  Elstryds  bones. 
So  are  theie  cleped  ; gentle  and  the  hynde 
Can  telle,  that  Severnes  streeme  bie  Vyncentes 
rocke’s  ywrynde. 


XI. 

The  bawsyn  gyaunt,  hee  who  dyd  them  slee, 
To  telle  Gendolyne  quycklie  was  ysped ; 
Whanne,  as  he  strod  alonge  the  shakeynge  lee, 
The  roddie  levynne  glesterrd  on  hys  headde ; 
Into  hys  hearte  the  azure  vapoures  spreade  ; 
He  wrythde  arounde  yn  drearie  dernie  payne 


ENGLISH  METAMORPHOSIS. 


147 


Wlianne  from  his  Ijfe-bloode  the  rodde  lemes 
were  fed, 

He  felle  an  hepe  of  ashes  on  the  playne  : 

Stylle  does  hys  ashes  shoote  ynto  the  lyghte, 

A wondrous  mountayne  hie,  and  Snowdon  ys 
ytte  hyghte. 


AN  EXCELENTE  BALADE  OF  CHAKITIE . 


WROTEN  BIE  THE  GODE  TRIESTE  THOMAS 
ROWLEIE,’  1464. 


I. 

In  Yirgjne  tlie  sweltrie  sun  gan  sheene, 

And  hotte  upon  the  mees  did  caste  his  raie ; 
The  apple  rodded  from  its  palie  greene, 

And  the  mole  peare  did  bende  the  leafy  spraie  ; 
The  peede  chelandri  sunge  the  livelong  daie ; 
’Twas  nowe  the  pride,  the  manhode  of  the  yeare, 
And  eke  the  grounde  was  dighte  in  its  mose  defte 
aumere. 

II. 

The  sun  was  glemeing  in  the  midde  of  daie, 
Deadde  still  the  aire,  and  eke  the  welken  blue. 
When  from  the  sea  arist  in  drear  arraie 
A hepe  of  cloudes  of  sable  sullen  hue. 

The  which  full  fast  unto  the  woodlande  dr  ewe, 

^ Thomas  Rowley,  the  author,  was  born  at  Norton  Mai 
ward,  in  Somersetshire,  educated  at  the  Convent  of  St 
Mina,  at  Keynesham,  and  died  at  Westbury  in  Gloucester 
sh  i ro . — C 1 1 A T'r  ERTON. 


BALADE  OF  CIIAIIITIE. 


149 


Hiltring  attenes  the  sunnis  fetjve  lace, 

Aaid  the  blacke  tempeste  swolne  and  gatherd  up 
apace. 

III. 

Beneathe  an  holme,  faste  by  a pathwaie  side, 
Which  dyde  unto  Seyncte  Godwine’s  covent 
lede, 

A hapless  pilgrhn  moneynge  dyd  abide. 

Pore  in  his  viewe,  ungentle  in  his  weede, 
Longe  bretful  of  the  miseries  of  neede. 

Where  from  the  hail-stone  coulde  the  aimer 
flie  ? 

fie  had  no  housen  theere,  ne  anie  covent  nie. 


IV. 

Look  in  his  glommed  face,  his  sprighte  there 
scanne  ; 

Howe  woe-be-gone,  how  withered,  forw^md, 
deade  ! 

Haste  to  thie  church-glebe-house,  asshrewed 
manne  ! 

Haste  to  thie  kiste,  thie  onlie  dortoure  bedde. 

Cale,  as  the  claie  whiche  will  gre  on  thie 
hedde, 


• ‘ Seyncte  Godwine’s  Covent.*  It  would  have  been  char- 
Uable  if  the  author  had  not  pointed  at  personal  characters  in 
this  Ballad  of  Charity.”  The  Abbott  of  St.  Godwin’s  at  the 
time  of  the  writing  of  this  was  Ralph  de  Bellomont,  a great 
stickler  for  the  Lancastrian  family.  Rowley  was  si  Yorkist 
• - CUATTEKTON. 


150 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Is  Chari  tie  and  Love  amlnge  highe  elves  ; 
Kniglitis  and  Barons  live  for  pleasure  and  them- 
selves.^ 

V. 

The  gatherd  storme  is  rype  ; the  bigge  drops 
falle ; 

The  forswat  meadowes  smethe,  and  drenche 
the  raine  ; 

The  comyng  ghastness  do  the  cattle  pall. 

And  the  full  flockes  are  drivynge  ore  the  plaine, 
Dashde  from  the  cloudes  the  waters  flott 
againe  ; 

The  welkin  opes  ; the  yellow  levynne  flies  ; 
And  the  hot  fierie  smothe  in  the  wide  lowings 
dies. 

VI. 

Liste!  now  the  thunder’s  rattling  clymmynge 
sound 

Cheves  slowlie  on,  and  then  embollen  clangs, 
Shakes  the  hie  spyre,  and  losst,  dispended, 
drown’d. 

Still  on  the  gallard  eare  of  terroure  hanges ; 
The  windes  are  up  ; the  lofty  elmen  swanges  ; 
Again  the  levynne  and  the  thunder  poures. 
And  the  full  cloudes  are  braste  attenes  in  stonen 
showers. 

Chatterton  probably  alluded  to  his  own  deserted  situa- 
tion, since,  it  is  said,  he  gave  this  ballad  to  the  publisher  of 
the  ‘ Town  and  Country  Magazine,’  only  a month  before  his 
death. — Db.  Gregory. 


BALADE  OF  CHARITIE. 


151 


VII. 

Spurreynge  his  palfrie  oere  the  watrie  plaine, 
The  Abbote  of  Seyncte  Godwynes  convente 
came  ; 

His  chapournette  was  drented  with  the  reine, 
And  his  pencte  gyrdle  met  with  mickle  shame  ; 
He  aynewarde  tolde  his  bederoll  ^ at  the  same  ; 
The  stomie  encreasen,  and  he  drew  aside, 

With  the  mist  almes-craver  neere  to  the  holme 
to  bide. 

VIII. 

His  cope  was  all  of  Lyncolne  clothe  so  fyne, 
With  a gold  button  fasten’d  neere  his  chynne  ; 
His  autremete  was  edged  with  golden  twynne, 
And  his  shoone  pyke  a loverds  mighte  have 
binne ; 

Full  well  it  shewn  he  thoughten  coste  no  sinne ; 
The  trammels  of  the  palfrye  pleasde  his  sighte, 
For  the  horse-millanare  ^ his  head  with  roses 
dighte. 


1 He  told  his  beads  backwards ; a figurative  expression  to 
signify  cursing. — Chatterton. 

2 One  morning  while  Mr.  Tyrwhitt  and  I were  at  Bristol, 
in  1776,  we  had  not  proceeded  far  from  our  lodging  before  he 
found  he  had  left  on  his  table  a memorandum-book,  which  it 
was  necessary  he  should  have  about  him.  He  therefore  re- 
turned to  fetch  it  while  I stood  still  in  the  very  place  we 
carted  at,  looking  on  the  objects  about  me.  By  this  spot,  as 
I was  subsequently  assured,  the  young  Chatterton  would 
yaturaUy  pass  to  tne  charity  school,  on  St.  Augustine’s  back, 


152 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


IX. 

An  almes,  sir  prieste  ! the  droppynge  pilgrirn 
saide, 

O ! let  me  waite  within  your  covente  dore, 

Till  the  sunne  sheneth  hie  above  our  heade, 

And  the  loude  tempeste  of  the  aire  is  oer  ; 

Helpless  and  ould  am  I alas  ! and  poor  ; 

No  house,  ne  friend,  ne  moneie  in  my  pouche  ; 
All  yatte  I calle  my  owne  is  this  my  silver 
crouche. 

X. 

Varlet,  replyd  the  Abbatte,  cease  your  dinne ; 

This  is  no  season  ahnes  and  prayers  to  give ; 

where  he  was  educated.  But  whether  this  circumstance  be 
correctly  stated  or  not,  is  immaterial  to  the  general  tendency 
of  the  following  remark.  On  the  spot,  however,  where  1 was 
standing,  our  retentive  observer  had  picked  up  an  idea  which 
afterwards  found  its  way  into  his  “Excelente  Balade  of 
Chari  tie,  as  wroten  by  the  gode  prieste  Thomas  Rowieie, 
1464.” 

“ For  the  ‘ horse-millanare  * his  head  with  roses  dighte.” 
The  considerate  reader  must  obviously  have  stared  on  being 
inforaied  that  such  a term  and  such  a trade  had  been  extant 
in  1464;  but  his  wonder  would  have  ceased,  had  he  been  con- 
vinced, as  I am,  that  in  a public  part  of  Bristol,  full  in  sight 
of  every  passer  by,  was  a sadler’s  shop,  over  which  was  in- 
scribed ‘ A ’ or  ‘ B,’  no  matter  which,  • horse-milliner.*  On 
the  outside  of  one  of  the  windows  of  the  same  operator  stood 
(and  I suppose  yet  stands)  a wooden  horse  dressed  out  with 
ribbons,  to  explain  the  nature  of  horse-millinery.  We  have 
here  perhaps  the  history  of  this  modern  image,  which  was 
mpressed  by  Ghatterton  into  his  description  of  an  “ Abbote 
of  Seyncte  Godwynes  Convente.” — Steevens. 


BALADE  OF  CHAKITIE. 


153 


]\rie  porter  never  lets  a faitour  in  ; 

None  touch  mie  rynge  who  not  in  honour  live. 
And  now  the  sonne  with  the  blacke  cloudes  did 
stryve, 

And  shettynge  on  the  grounde  his  glairie  raie, 
The  Abbatte  spurrde  his  steede,  and  eftsoones 
roadde  awaie.  , 


XI. 

Once  moe  the  skie  was  blacke,  the  thounder 
rolde ; 

Faste  reyneynge  oer  the  pTaine  a prieste  wai 
seen  ; 

Ne  dighte  full  proude,  ne  buttoned  up  in  golde  ; 
His  cope  and  jape  were  graie,  and  eke  wc’**^ 
dene  ; 

A Liniitoure  he  was  of  order  seene  ; 

And  from  the  pathwaie  side  then  turned  he(^, 
WTiere  the  pore  aimer  laie  binethe  the  holinen 
tree. 

XTI. 

An  almes,  sir  priest ! the  droppynge  pilg/im 
sayde, 

For  SAveete  Seyncte  Marie  and  your  order  sake. 
The  Limitoure  then  loosen’d  his  pouche  threade, 
And  did  thereoute  a groate  of  silver  ttike ; 

The  mister  pilgrim  dyd  for  halline  shake. 

Here  take  this  silver,  it  maie  eathe  thie  care ; 
We  are  Goddes  stewards  all,  nete  of  oure  ownc* 
we  bare. 


154 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


XIII. 

But  all ! unhailie  pilgrim,  lerne  of  me, 

Scathe  anie  give  a rentrolle  to  their  Lorde. 
Here  take  my  semecope,  thou  arte  bare  I see ; 
Tis  thyne ; the  Seynctes  will  give  me  mie  re- 
warde. 

He  left  the  pilgrim,  and  his  waie  ahorde. 
Virgynne  and  hallie  Seyncte,  who  sitte  yn 
gloure. 

Or  give  the  mittee  will,  or  give  the  gode  man 
power  I 


10  JOHNE  LADGATE. 


[sent  with  the  following  SONGE  to  ELLA.] 

Well  thanne,  goode  Johne,  sjthe  ytt  must  needes 
be  soe, 

Thatt  thou  and  I a bowtynge  matche  must  have, 

Lette  ytt  ne  breakynge  of  oulde  friendshyppe  bee, 

Thys  ys  the  onelie  all-a-boone  I crave. 

Rememberr  Stowe, ^ the  Bryghtstowe  Carmalyte, 

Who  whanne  Johne  Clarkynge,  one  of  myckle 
lore, 

Dydd  throwe  hys  gauntlette-penne,  wyth  hym  to 
fyghte, 

Hee  showd  smalle  wytte,  and  showd  hys  weak- 
nesse  more. 

Thys  ys  mie  formance,  whyche  I nowe  have 
wrytte, 

The  best  performance  of  mie  lyttel  wytte. 


1 ‘ Stowe  ’ should  * Stone,’  a Carmelite  friar  of  Bristol 
educated  at  Cambridge,  and  a famous  preacher. — Wartoji. 


SONGE  TO  ^LLA, 


LOUDE  OF  THE  CASTEL  OF  BRYSTOWE  YNNB 
DAIES  OF  YORE. 

Oh  thou,  oiT  whatt  remaynes  of  thee, 

^lla,  the  darlynge  of  futurity, 

Lett  thys  mie  songe  bolde  as  thie  courage  be, 

As  everlastynge  to  posteritye. 

Whanne  Dacya’s  sonnes,  whose  hayres  of  bloude 
redde  hue 

Lyche  kynge-cuppes  brastynge  wythe  the  morn- 
ing due, 

Arraung’d  ynne  dreare  arraie, 

Upponne  the  lethale  daie, 

Spredde  farre  and  wyde  onne  Watchets  shore ; 
Than  dyddst  thou  furiouse  stande. 

And  bie  thie  valyante  hande 
Beesprengedd  all  the  mees  wythe  gore. 

Drawne  bie  thyne  anlace  felle, 

Downe  to  the  depthe  of  helle 
Thousandes  of  Dacyanns  went ; 
Brystowaniies,  menne  of  myghte, 


SONGE  TO  ^LLA. 


lo7 


Ydar’d  the  bloudie  fjghie, 

Aiid  actedd  deeds  full  quent. 

Oh  thou,  whereer  (thie  bones  att  reste) 

Thye  Spryte  to  haunte  delyghteth  beste, 
VrhetheiT  upponne  the  bloude-embrewedd  pleyne, 
Orr  whare  thou  kennst  fromm  farre 
The  dysmall  crye  of  warre, 

Orr  seest  somme  mountayne  made  of  corse  of 
sleyne  ; 

Orr  seest  the  hatchedd  stede, 

Ypraunceynge  o’er  the  mede, 

And  neighe  to  be  amenged  the  poynctedd 
speeres : 

Orr  ynne  blacke  armoure  staulke  arounde 
Embattel’d  Brystowe,  once  thie  grounde, 
And  glowe  ardurous  onn  the  Castle  steeres  ; 

Orr  fierye  round  the  mynsterr  glare  ; 

Lette  Brystowe  stylle  be  made  thie  care ; 
Guarde  ytt  fromme  foemenne  and  consumynge 
fyre ; 

Lyche  Avones  streme  ensyrke  ytte  rounde, 
Ne  lette  a flame  enharme  the  grounde, 
fylle  ynne  one  flame  all  the  whole  worlde 
expyre.^ 

1 The  stanza  of  old  English  poetry  is  most  coinmunly 
formed  of  lines  of  equal  feet,  and  constantly  preserves  an 
uniform  recurrence  of  the  same  systematic  alternation  of 


158 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


rhyme.  1 he  ‘ Songe  to  ^lla  ’ is  composed  in  that  devious 
and  irregular  measure,  which  has  been  called  the  ‘ Pindaric.’ 
What  shall  we  think  of  a Pindaric  ode  in  the  reign  of  Edward 
the  Fourth?  It  is  well  known,  that  this  novelty  was  reserved 
for  the  capricious  ambition  of  Cowley’s  muse.  The  writers 
of  the  fifteenth  century  were  not  so  fond  of  soaring.  They 
had  neither  skill  nor  strength  for  such  towering  flights.  — 
Warton. 


THE  UNDERWKITTEN  LINES  WERE 


COMPOSED  BY  JOHN  LADGATE,  A PRIEST 
IN  LONDON, 

AND  SENT  TO  ROWLIE,  AS  AN  ANSWER  TO  THE 
PRECEDING  SONGE  OF  ELLA. 

Havynge  wythe  mouche  attentyon  redde 
WTiatt  you  dydd  to  mee  sende, 

Admyre  the  varses  mouche  I dyd 
And  thus  an  answer  lende. 

Amongs  the  Greeces  Homer  was 
A Poett  mouche  renownde, 

Amongs  the  Latyns  Vyrgilius 
Was  beste  of  Poets  founde. 

The  Brytish  Merlyn  oftenne  hanne 
The  gyfte  of  inspyration, 

And  Ailed  to  the  Sexonne  menne 
Dydd  synge  wythe  elocation. 

Ynne  Norman  tymes,  Turgotus  and 
Goode  Chaucer  dydd  excelle, 


160 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Thenn  Stowe,  the  Bryghtstowe  Carmelyte, 
Dydd  bare  awaie  the  belle. 

Nowe  Rowlie  ynne  these  mokie  dayes 
Lendes  owte  hys  sheenynge  lyghtes, 

And  Turgotus  and  Chaucer  lyves 
Ynne  ev’ry  lyne  he  wrytes. 

Mr.  Tyrwhitt  compared  the  copy  of  the  ‘ Songe  to  iElIa 
and  * Ladgate’s  Answer,’  supplied  by  Mr.  Catcotr,  with  one 
made  by  Mr.  Barrett,  from  the  piece  of  vellum  which  Chat- 
terton  gave  to  him  as  the  original  MS.  These  are  the  varia- 
tions of  importance,  exclusive  of  many  in  the  spelling. 

VERSES  TO  LADGATE. 

In  the  title,  for  ‘ Ladgate,’  r.  ‘ Lydgate  * 
ver.  2.  r.  ‘ Thatt  I and  thee.* 

3.  for  ‘ bee,’  r.  ‘ goe.’ 

7.  for  ‘ fyghte,’  r.  ‘ wryte.’ 

SONGE  TO  JELLA, 

The  title  in  the  vellum  MS.  was  simply  ‘ Songe  toe  iElla,’ 
with  a small  mark  of  reference  to  a note  below,  containing 
the  following  wordes — ‘ Lord  of  the  Castelle  of  Brystoweymie 
dales  of  yore.  ’ It  may  be  proper  also  to  take  notice,  that  the 
' whole  song  was  there  written  like  prose,  without  any  breaks, 
or  divisions  into  verses. 

ver.  6.  for  ‘ brastynge,’  r.  ‘ burstynge.’ 

11.  for  ‘ valyante,’  r.  ‘ burlie.’ 

23.  for  ‘ dysmall,’  r.  ‘ honore.’ 

ladgate’s  answer. 

No  title  in  the  Vellum  MS. 
ver.  3.  for  ‘ varses  ’ r.  ‘ pene.’ 
antep.  for  ‘ Lendes,’  r.  ‘ Sendes.’ 
ult.  for  ‘ lyne,’  r.  ‘ thynge.’ 

Mr.  Barrett  had  also  a copy  of  these  Poems  by  Chattertou 


LADGATE  TO  ROWLEY. 


IGl 


which  differed  from  that  which  Chatterton  afterwards  pro- 
duced as  the  original,  in  the  following  particulars,  among 
others : 

IN  THE  TITLE  OF  THE  VERSES  TO  LADGATE. 

Grig.  ‘ Lydgate.’  — Chat.  ‘ Ladgate.’ 
ver.  3.  Orig.  ‘ goe.’  — Chat.  ‘ doe.’ 

7.  Orig.  ‘ wr}^te.’  — Chat.  ‘ fyghte.’ 

SONGE  TO  JELLA. 

ver.  6.  Orig.  ‘ Dacyane.’  — Chat.  ‘ Dacya’s.’ 

Orig.  * whose  lockes.’  — Chat.  ‘ whose  hayres.' 

11.  Orig.  ‘ buiiie.’  — Chat.  ‘ bronded.’ 

22.  Orig.  ‘kennest.’  — Chat,  ‘hearst.’ 

23.  Orig.  * honore.’  — Chat.  ‘ dysmall.’ 

26.  Orig.  ‘ Yprauncynge.’ — Chat.  ‘ Ifrayning.’ 

30.  Orig.  ‘gloue.’  — Chat,  ‘glare.’ 

Tyr WHITT’S  Edition  of  Rowley. 

Upon  these  variations  we  have  these  remarks;  “ In  one 
copy  of  the  ‘ Songe  to  iElla,’  which  Chatterton  gave  to  Mr. 
Barrett,  these  lines  were  found : 

“ Or  seest  the  hatched  steed, 

Tfra/yning  o’er  the  meed.” 

Being  called  upon  for  the  original,  he  the  next  day  produced 
a parchment,  containing  the  same  poem,  in  which  he  had 
written  ‘ yprauncing,’  instead  of  ‘ifrayning;’  but  by  some 
artifice  he  had  obscured  the  MS.  so  much,  to  give  it  an 
ancient  appearance,  that  Mr.  Barrett  could  not  make  out  the 
word  without  the  use  of  galls.  What  follows  from  all  this, 
but  that  Chatterton  found  on  examination  that  there  was  no 
such  word  as  ‘ ifrayning,’  and  that  he  substituted  another 
in  its  place  ? In  the  same  poem  he  at  one  time  wrote 
‘ locks,’ — ‘ burlie  ’ — ‘ brasting,’  and  ‘ kennest ; ’ at  another, 
‘hairs’ — ‘valiant’ — ‘bursting,’  and  ‘hearest.’  Variations 
of  this  kind  he  could  have  produced  without  end.  What  he 
called  originals,  indeed,  were  probably  in  general  more  per 
feet  than  what  he  called  copies;  because  the  former  were 
always  produced  after  the  other,  and  were,  in  truth,  nothing 
more  than  second  editions  of  the  same  pieces.” — Malone 
VOL.  II.  11 


THE  TOURNAMENT 


AH  INTKRLITDB. 


This  poem  was  originally  pnnted  trom  a copy  made  by 
Mr.  Caicott,  from  one  in  Chatterton’s  handwriting. 

Sir  Simon  de  Bourton,  the  hero  of  this  poem,  is  supposed  to 
have  been  the  first  founder  of  a church  dedicated  to  “ oure 
Ladie,”  in  the  place  where  the  church  of  St.  Mary  Redcliflfe 
now  stands. 

The  following  account  is  transcribed  from  one  of  the  parch 
ment  manuscripts  produced  by  Chatterton : — 

Symonne  de  Byrtonne  eldest  sonne  of  Syrre  Baldwynus 
de  Byrtonne,  was  born  on  the  eve  of  the  annunciation, 
M.c.c.xxxxxxv.  hee  was  desyrabelle  of  aspect,  and  in  hys 
yowthe  much  yeven  to  Tourneyeynge,  and  m.c.c.xxxxxxxx 
at  Wynchestre  yule  games  won  myckle  honnoure,  he  ab- 
staynyd  from  marryage,  he  was  myckle  learned  and  ybuylded 
a house  in  the  Yle  of  Wyghte  after  fashyon  of  a pallayse 
royaul,  goodlye  to  behoulde,  wyth  carvell’d  pyllars  on  whych 
was  thys  ryme  wroten : 

Fulle  nobille  is  thys  Kyngelie  howse 
And  eke  fulle  nobille  thee, 

Echone  is  for  the  other  fytte, 

As  saynctes  for  heaven  bee. 

Hee  ever  was  fullen  of  almesdeeds,  and  was  of  the  poore  be- 
loved: in  M.c.c.LXXXv  Kynge  Edwarde*  kepte  hys  Chryst- 
masse  at  Bryghtstowe  and  proceeded  agaynste  the  Welch- 
menne  ebroughtenne  manye  stronge  and  dowghtee  knyghts, 
amongst  whom  were  Syrre  Ferrars  Nevylle,  GeofFroie  Free- 


* This  circumstance  is  proved  by  our  old  chronicles  under 
the  year  1285,  “ Rex  Edw.  1.  per  Walliam  progrediens  occi 
dentalem  intravit  Glamorganciam,  quaa  ad  Coraitern  Glo- 
veruiae  noscitur  pertinere  : Rex  dein  Bristolliam  veniens 
festiim  Dominicae  nativitatis  eo  Anno  ibi  tenuit.” — Barreit. 


THE  TOURNAMENT. 


1 Gij 

man,  Clymar  Pereie,  Heldebrand  Goumie,  Ralph  Mohun, 
Syr  Lyster  Pereie,  and  Edgare  Knyvet,  knyghtesof  renowne, 
who  established  a three  days’  jouste  on  Sayncts  Maryes 
Hylle:  Syrre  Ferrars  Nevylle  appeared  dyghte  in  ruddy  ar- 
moure  bearyng  a rampaunte  lyon  Gutte  de  Sangue,  agaynste 
hyin  came  Syr  Gervayse  Teysdylle,  w’-ho  beaiyd  a launce 
issuynge  proper  but  was  quyeklie  overthrowen:  then  ap 
peared  Leonarde  Ramsay,  who  had  a honde  issuante  hold- 
eynge  a bloudie  swerde  peercynge  a couroune  wyth  a sheelde 
peasenue  with  sylver;  he  ranne  twayne  tyltes,  but  Neville 
throwen  hym  on  the  thyrde  rencountre:  then  dyd  the  afore- 
sayd  Syrre  Symonne  de  Byrtonne  avow  that  if  he  overthrowen 
Syrre  Ferrars  Neville,  he  woulde  there  erecte  and  buylde  a 
chyrche  to  owre  Ladye;  allgate  there  stoode  anigh  Lamjmg- 
tonnes  Ladies  chamber  : hee  then  encountred  vygorously 
and  bore  Syrre  Ferrars  horse  and  man  to  the  gi’ounde,  re- 
maynynge  konynge,  victore  knyght  of  the  Jouste,  ande  set- 
tynge  atte  the  ryghte  honde  of  K.  Edwarde.  Inne  m.cclxxxxi 
hee  performed  hys  vowen  ybuylden  a godelye  chyrche  from 
a pattern  of  St.  Oswaldes  Abbyes  Chyrche  and  the  day  of 
our  Lordes  natyvyty  m.c.cci.  Gylbert  de  Saute  Leonfardoe 
Byshope  of  Chychestre  dyd  dedicate  it  to  the  Holie  Vyrgynne 
Marye  moder  of  Godde.” 

This  MS.,  one  of  the  pretended  originals,  entitled  “ Vita 
Burtoni,”  is  6^  inches  square,  partly  written  with  brown  ink, 
and  partly  with  perfectly  blach.  It  is  smeared  in  the  centre 
with  glue  or  brown  varnish,  but  for  the  most  part  is  in  an 
attorney’s  regular  engi'ossing  hand.  The  parchment,  where 
it  has  not  been  disfigured,  appears  new  and  of  its  natural 
colour.  Some  drops  of  red  ink  appear  in  different  parts  of  the 
parchment. — Southey’s  Edition  of  Chatterton. 


THE  TOUKNAMENT. 


ENTER  AN  HERAWDE. 

The  Tournament  begynnes  ; the  hammerra 
sounde ; 

The  courserrs  lysse  about  the  mensuredd  fielde ; 

The  shemrynge  armoure  throws  the  sheene 
arounde ; 

Quayntyssed  fons  depicted  onn  eche  sheelde. 

The  feerie  heaulmets,  wythe  the  wreathes 
amielde, 

Supportes  the  rampynge  lyoncell  orr  beare, 

Wythe  straunge  depyctures,  nature  male  nott 
yeelde, 

Unseemelie  to  all  orderr  doe  appere, 

Yett  yatte  to  menne,  who  thyncke  and  have  a 
spryte, 

Makes  knowen  thatt  the  phantasies  unryghte. 

I,  sonne  of  honnoure,  spencer  of  her  joies, 

Muste  swythen  goe  to  yeve  the  speeres  arounde  ; 

Wythe  advantayle  and  borne  I meynte  emploie, 

Who  withoute  mee  woulde  fall  untoe  the 
grounde. 

Soe  the  tall  oake  the  ivie  twysteth  rounde; 


THE  TOURNAMENT. 


167 


Soe  the  neshe  flowerr  grees  ynne  the  woodeland 
shade. 

The  worlde  hie  diffraunce  ys  ynne  orderr 
founde  ; 

Wydhoute  unlikenesse  nothynge  could  bee 
made. 

As  ynn  the  bowke  nete  alleyn  cann  bee  donne, 
Syke  ynn  the  weal  of  kynde  all  thynges  are  partes 
of  onne. 

ENTERR  SYRR  SYMONNE  DE  BOURTONNE. 

Herawde,  hie  heavenne  these  tylterrs  stale  too 
longe, 

Mie  phantasie  ys  dyinge  forr  the  fyghte. 

The  mynstrelles  have  begonne  the  thyrde  warr 
songe, 

Yett  notte  a speere  of  hemm  hath  grete  mie 
syghte. 

I feere  there  be  ne  manne  wordhie  mie  myghte. 

I lacke  a Guid,^  a Wyllyamm  ^ to  entylte. 

To  reine  anente  a fele  embodiedd  knyghte, 

Ytt  gettes  ne  rennome  gyff  hys  blodde  bee 
spylte. 

Bie  heavenne  and  Marie  ytt  ys  tyme  they’re 
here ; 

1 lyche  nott  unthylle  thus  to  wielde  the  speare. 

Giiie  de  Sancto  Egidio,  the  most  famous  titter  of  his  age 
— Chatterton.  Rather  Guy  of  Warwick. — Dean  Milles. 

2 William  Rufus.  — Chatterton.  Rather  William  th2 
Conqueror. — Dean  Milles. 


168 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


HERAWDE. 

Mcthynckes  I heare  jer  sluggliornes  (Ijim 
fromm  farre. 

BOURTONNE. 

Ah  1 sywthenn  mie  shielde  and  tyltynge  launce 
bee  bounde. 

Eftsoones  beheste:  mie  Squyerr  to  the  warre. 

I flie  before  to  clayme  a challenge  grownde. 

[Goeth  oute. 


HERAWDE. 

Tliie  valourous  actes  woulde  meinte  of  menne 
astounde ; 

Harde  bee  yer  shappe  encontrynge  thee  ynn 
fyghte ; 

Anenst  alle  menne  thou  berest  to  the  grounde, 

Lyche  the  hard  hayle  dothe  the  tall  roshes 
pyghte. 

As  whanne  the  mornynge  sonne  ydronks  the 
dew, 

Syche  dothe  thie  valourous  actes  drocke  eche 
knyghte’s  hue. 

The  Lystes.  The  Kynge.  Syrr  Symonne 

DE  Bourtonne,  Syrr  Hugo  Ferraris,  Syrr 

Ranulph  Neville,  Syrr  Lodovick  de 

Clynton,  Syrr  Johan  de  Berghamme, 

AND  ODHERR  KnYGHTES,  HeRAWDE,  MyN* 

strelles,  and  Servytours. 


THE  TOURNAMENT. 


IGl' 


KYNGE. 

The  barganette ; yee  mynstrelles  tune  the 
strynge, 

Somme  actyonn  dyre  of  aunty  ante  kynges  now 
synge. 


MYNSTELLES. 


I. 

Wyllyamm,  the  Normannes  floure  botte  Eng- 
londes  thorne, 

The  manne  whose  myghte  delievretie  hadd 
knite, 

Snett  oppe  hys  long  strunge  bowe  and  sheelde 
aborne, 

Behesteynge  all  hys  hommageres  to  fyghte. 

Goe,  rouze  the  lyonn  fromm  hys  hylted  denne, 
Let  thie  floes  drenche  the  blodde  of  anie  thynge 
bott  menne. 

IT. 

Ynn  the  treed  forreste  doe  the  knyghtes  ap» 
pere ; 

Wyllyamm  wythe  myghte  hys  bowe  enyronn’d 
plies ; 

Loude  dynns  the  arrowe  ynn  the  wolfynn’s 
eare  ; 

Hee  ryseth  battent,  roares,  he  panctes,  hee  dyes. 

Forslagenn  att  thie  feete  lett  wolvynns  bee, 

Lett  thie  floes  drenche  theyre  blodde,  bott  do 
ue  bredrenn  slea. 


170 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


III. 

Thro  we  the  merKe  shade  of  twistynde  trees  hee 
rydes  ; 

The  flemed  owlett  flapps  herr  eve-speckte 
wynge ; 

The  lordynge  toade  ynn  all  hys  passes  bides ; 
The  berten  neders  att  hyram  darte  the  stynge ; 
Stylle,  stylle,  hee  passes  onn,  hys  stede 
astrodde, 

Nee  hedes  the  daungerous  waie  gyff  leadynga 
untoe  bloodde. 

IV. 

The  lyoncel,  fromme  sweltrie  countries  braughte, 
Coucheynge  binethe  the  sheltre  of  the  brierr, 
Att  commyng  dynn  doth  rayse  himselfe  dis- 
traughte, 

Hee  loketh  wythe  an  eie  of  flames  of  fyre. 

Goe,  stycke  the  lyonn  to  hys  hyltren  denne, 
Lette  thie  floes  drenche  the  blood  of  anie  thynge 
botte  menn. 

V. 

Wythe  passent  steppe  the  lyonn  mov’th  alonge  ; 
Wyllyamm  hys  ironne-woven  bowe  hee  bendes, 
Wythe  myghte  alych  the  roghlynge  thonderr 
stronge  ; 

The  lyonn  ynn  a roare  hys  spryte  foorthe  sendes. 
Go  3,  slea  the  lion  ynn  hys  blodde-steyn’d  denne, 
Botte  bee  thie  takelle  drie  fromm  blodde  of  od 
herr  menne. 


THE  TOURNAMENT. 


171 


VI. 

Swefte  fromm  the  thyckett  starks  the  stagge 
awaie ; 

The  couraciers  as  swefte  doe  afterr  tlie. 

Hee  lepethe  hie,  hee  stondes,  hee  kepes  at  baie, 

Botte  metes  the  arrowe,  and  eftsoones  dothe 
die. 

Forslagenn  atte  thie  fote  lette  wylde  beastes  bee, 
Lette  thie  floes  drenche  yer  blodde,  yett  do  ne 
bredrenn  slee. 

VII. 

Wythe  murtherr  tyredd.  hee  sleynges  hys  bo  we 
alyne. 

The  stagge  ys  ouch’d  ^ wythe  crownes  of  lillie 
flowerrs. 

Aroimde  theire  heaulmes  theie  greene  verte  .doe 
entwyne ; 

Joying  and  rev’lous  ynn  the  grene  wode  bow- 
errs. 

Forslagenn  wyth  thie  sloe  lette  wylde  beastes 
bee, 

Feeste  thee  upponne  theire  fleshe,  doe  ne  thie 
bredreim  slee. 

KYNGE. 

Nowe  to  the  Tourneie ; who  wyUe  fyrste  af- 
fraie  ? 

i Garlands  of  flowers  being  put  round  the  neck  of  the 
game,  it  was  said  to  be  ‘ ouch'd,’  from  ‘ ouch,’  a chain  worn 
by  earls  round  their  necks. — Chatterton 


172 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


HERAULDE. 

Nevylle,  a baronne,  bee  yatte  honiioure  thyne. 

BOURTONNE. 

I clayme  the  passage. 

NEVYLLE. 

I contake  thie  waie. 

BOURTONNE. 

Thenn  there’s  mie  gauntlette  on  mie  gaberdjiie 

HEREIIAULDE. 

A leegefuU  challenge,  knyghtes  and  champy- 
onns  dygne, 

A leegefull  challenge,  lette  the  slugghorne 
sounde. 

[*Syrr  Sgmonne  and  Nevylle  tylte. 

Nevylle  ys  goeynge,  manne  and  horse,  toe 
grounde. 

[Nevylle  falls, 

Loverdes,  how  doughtilie  the  tylterrs  joyne ! 

Yee  champyonnes,  heere  Symonne  de  Bo^ir- 
tomie  fyghtes, 

Onne  hee  hathe  quacedd,  assayle  hymm,  yee 
knyghtes. 

FERRARIS. 

1 wylle  anente  hymin  goe ; mie  squierr,  mie 
shielde ; 


THE  TOUllXAMENT. 


173 


OiT  onne  orr  odlierr  wyll  doe  myckle  seethe 

Before  I doe  departe  the  lissedd  fielde, 

Mieselfe  orr  Bourtonne  hereupponn  wyll  blethe, 

Mie  shielde ! 

BOURTONNE. 

Comme  onne,  and  fitte  thie  tylte-launce  ethe. 

VV  hanne  Bourtonn  fyghtes,  hee  metes  a doughtie 
foe. 

[Thfie  tyke.  Ferraris  falJeth. 

Plee  falleth ; nowe  hie  heavenne  thie  woundes 
doe  smethe ; 

I feere  mee,  I have  wroughte  thee  myckle  woe. 

HERAWDE. 

Bourtonne  hys  seconde  beereth  to  the  feelde. 

Comme  onn,  yee  knyghtes,  and  wynn  the  lion- 
nour’d  sheeld. 

BEROriAMME. 

I take  the  challenge ; squyre,  mie  launce  and 
stede. 

I,  Bourtonne,  take  the  gauntlette ; forr  mee 
stale. 

Botte,  gyff  thou  fygh teste  mee,  thou  shalt  have 
mede; 

Somme  odherr  I wylle  champyonn  toe  affraie  ; 

Perchaunce  fromme  hemm  I maie  possess  the 
daie, 

Thenn  I schalle  be  a foemanne  forr  the  spere 


174 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Herehawde,  toe  the  bankes  of  Knyghtys  faie, 

De  Berghamme  waytetli  forr  a foemann  heere. 

CLINTON. 

Botte  longe  thou  schalte  ne  tende ; I doe  thee 
fie, 

Lyche  forreying  levyn,  schalle  mie  tylte-launce 
file. 

[ Berghamme  and  Clinton  tylte.  Clinton  fallethe, 
BERGHAMME. 

NTowe,  nowe,  Syrr  Knyghte,  attoure  thie  bee- 
veredd  eyne. 

[ have  borne  downe,  and  efte  doe  gauntlette  thee. 

Swythenne  begynne,  and  wrynn  thie  shappe  oit 
myne; 

Gyff  thou  dyscomfytte,  ytt  wylle  dobblie  bee. 

\Bourtonne  and  Burghamm  tylteth,  Berghamme  falls. 

HERAWDE. 

i^ymonne  de  Bourtonne  haveth  borne  downe 
tlu-ee, 

And  bie  the  thyrd  hathe  honnoure  of  a fourthe. 

Lett  hymm  bee  sett  asyde,  tylle  hee  doth  see 

A tyltynge  forr  a knyghte  of  gentle  wourthe. 

Heere  commethe  straunge  knyghtes  ; gyff  cor- 
teous  heie, 

Ytt  Welle  beseies  to  yeve  hemm  ryghte  of  fraie. 

FIRST  KNYGHTE. 

Straungerrs  wee  bee,  and  homblie  doe  wee  clay  me 


THE  TOURNAMENT. 


175 


The  lennome  ynn  tliys  Tourneie  forr  to  tylte; 
Dberbie  to  proove  fromm  cravents  owre  goode 
name, 

Bewrynnynge  thatt  wee  gentile  blodde  have 
spylte. 


HEREHAWDE. 

Yee  knyghtes  of  cortesie,  these  straungerrs, 
saie, 

Bee  you  fuUe  wyllynge  foiT  to  yeve  hemm  fraie  ? 

\Fyve  Knyghtes  tylteih  wythe  the  straunge  Knyghtes  and 
bee  everichone  overthrowne. 

BOURTONNE. 

Nowe  bie  Seyncte  Marie,  gyff  onn  all  the  fielde 

Ycrasedd  speres  and  helmetts  bee  besprente, 

Gyff  everyche  knyghte  dydd  houlde  a piercedd 
sheeld, 

Gyff  all  the  feelde  wythe  champyonne  blodde 
be  stente, 

Yett  toe  encounterr  hymm  I bee  contente. 

Annodherr  launce,  Marshalle,  anodherr  launce. 

Albeytte  hee  wythe  lowes  of  fyre  ybrente, 

Yett  Bour tonne  woulde  agenste  hys  val  advance. 

Fyve  haveth  fallenn  downe  anethe  hys  speere, 

Botte  hee  schalle  bee  the  next  thatt  falleth 
heere. 

Bie  thee,  Seyncte  Marie,  and  thy  Sonne  I 
sweare, 


176 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Thatt  ynn  whatte  place  yoiin  doughtie  knjglite 
shall  fall 

Anethe  the  stronge  push  of  mie  straught  out 
speere, 

There  schalle  aryse  a hallie  chyrches  walle, 

The  whyche,  ynn  honnoure,  I wylle  Marye  calle, 

Wythe  pillars  large,  and  spyre  full  hyghe  and 
rounde. 

And  thys  I faifuUie  wylle  stonde  to  all, 

Gyff  yonderr  straungerr  falleth  to  the  grounde. 

Straungerr,  bee  boune;  I champyonn  you  to 
warre. 

Sounde,  sounde  the  slughornes,  to  be  hearde 
fromm  farre. 

[Bourtonne  and  the  Straungerr  tylt,  Straunger  falleth. 


KYNGE. 

The  Mornynge  Tyltes  now  cease. 

HERAWDE. 

Bourtonne  ys  kynge. 

Dysplaie  the  Englyshe  bannorre  onn  the 
tente ; 

Sounde  hymm,  yee  mynstrelles,  songs  of  ach- 
ments  synge  ; 

Yee  Herawdes,  getherr  upp  the  speeres  be- 
sprente  ; 

To  Kynge  of  Tourney-tylte  bee  all  knees  bente. 

Dames  faire  and  gentle,  forr  youre  loves  bee 
foughte ; 


TUE  TOURNAMENT. 


17V 


Forr  you  the  longe  tylte-launce,  the  swerde 
hee  shente  ; 

Hee  joustedd,  alleine  havynge  you  ynn  thouglite. 

Comme,  mynstrells,  sound  the  strynge,  goe  onn 
eche  syde, 

Whylest  hee  untoe  the  Kynge  ynn  state  doe 
n^de 


MYNSTRELLES. 

I 

Whann  Battayle,  smethynge  wythe  new  quick - 
enn’d  gore, 

Bendynge  wythe  spoiles,  and  bloddie  droppynge 
hedde, 

Dydd  the  merke  wood  of  ethe  and  rest  exploi-e, 
Seekeynge  to  lie  onn  Pleasures  downie  hedde, 
Pleasure,  dauncyng  fromm  her  wode, 
Wreathedd  wythe  tloures  of  aiglintine, 

From  hys  vysage  washedd  the  bloude, 

Hylte  hys  swerde  and  gaberdyne. 


II. 

Wythe  syke  an  eyne  shee  swotelie  hymm  dydd 
view, 

Dydd  soe  ycorvenn  everrie  shape  to  joie, 

Hys  spryte  dydd  chaunge  untoe  anodherr  hiui, 
Hys  armes,  ne  spoyles,  mote  anie  thoughts 
emploie. 

All  delyghtsomme  and  contente, 

Fyre  enshotynge  fromm  hys  eyne, 

VOL.  II.  12 


178 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Ynn  hys  armes  liee  dydd  herr  hente, 

Lyche  the  merk-plante  doe  entwyne. 

Soe,  gyff  thou  lovest  Pleasure  and  herr  trayne, 

Onknowlachynge  ynn  whatt  place  herr  to 
fynde, 

Thys  rule  yspende,  and  ynn  thie  mynde  re- 
tayne ; 

Seeke  Honnoure  fyrste,  and  Pleasaunce  lies 
behynde. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS, 


In  printing  the  first  of  these  poems  two  copies  have  been 
made  use  of,  both  taken  from  copies  of  Chatterton’s  hand- 
writing— the  one  by  Mr.  Catcott,  and  the  other  by  Mr.  Bar- 
rett. The  principal  difference  between  them  is  at  the  end, 
where  the  latter  has  fourteen  lines  from  slianza  55,  which  are 
wanting  in  the  former.  The  second  poem  is  printed  from  a 
single  copy,  made  by  Mr.  Barrett,  from  one  in  Chatterton’s 
handwriting. 

It  should  be  observed,  that  the  Poem  marked  No.  1,  was 
given  to  Mr.  Barrett  by  Chatterton,  with  the  following  title: 
“ Battle  of  Hastings,  wrote  by  Turgot  the  Monk,  a Saxon,  in 
the  tenth  century,  and  translated  by  Thomas  Kowlie,  parish 
preeste  of  St.  Johns,  in  the  city  of  Bristol,  in  the  year  1465. — 
The  remainder  of  the  poem  I have  not  been  happy  enough  to 
meet  with.”  Being  afterwards  pressed  by  Mr.  Barrett  to 
produce  any  part  of  this  poem  in  the  original  handwriting, 
he  at  last  said  that  he  wrote  this  poem  himself  for  a friend ; 
but  that  he  had  another,  the  copy  of  an  original  by  Rowley: 
and  being  then  desired  to  produce  that  other  poem,  he,  after 
a considerable  interval  of  time,  brought  to  Mr.  Barrett  the 
poem  marked  No.  2,  as  far  as  stanza  52  inclusive,  with  the 
following  title;  “ Battle  of  Hastyngs  by  Turgotus,  translated 
by  Roulie  for  W.  Canynge,  Esq.”  The  lines  from  stanza  52 
inclusive,  were  brought  some  time  after,  in  consequence  of 
Mr.  Barrett’s  repeated  solicitations  for  the  conclusion  of  the 
poem.— jVbte  to  TyrwhitVs  Edition, 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


(No.  1.) 

I. 

0 Chrtste,  it  is  a grief  for  me  to  telle, 

How  manie  a nobil  erle  and  valrous  knyghte 
In  fyghtynge  for  Kynge  Harrold  nobHe  fell,  • 

A1  sleyne  in  Hastyngs  feeld  in  bloudie  fyghte.  . 

0 sea,  our  teeming  donore ! ban  thy  floude, 

Han  anie  fructuous  entendement. 

Thou  wouldst  have  rose  and  sank  wyth  tydes  of 
bloude. 

Before  Duke  Wyllyam’s  knyghts  han  hither  went ; 
Whose  cowart  arrows  manie  erles  sleyne, 
tAnd  brued  the  feeld  wyth  bloude  as  season 
rayne. 

II. 

* And  of  his  knyghtes  did  eke  full  manie  die, 

I All  passyng  hie,  of  mickle  myghte  echone, 

* Whose  poygnant  arrowes,  typp’d  with  destynie, 

* Caus’d  manie  wydowes  to  make  myckle  mono. 

* Lordynges,  avaunt,  that  chycken-harted  are, 

^ From  out  of  hearynge  quicklie  now  departe  ; 

F ull  well  I wote,  to  sy nge  of  bloudie  warre 


]82 


KOWLEY  POEMS. 


Will  greeve  your  tenderlie  and  mayden  harte. 
Go,  do  the  weaklie  worn  man  inn  mannV  geare, 
And  scond  your  mansion  if  grymm  war  come 
there. 

III. 

Soone  as  the  erlie  maten  belle  was  tolde, 

And  sonne  was  come  to  byd  us  all  good  daie, 
Bothe  armies  on  the  feeld,  both  brave  and  bolde, 
Prepar’d  for  fyghte  in  champyon  arraie. 

As  when  two  bulles,  destynde  for  Hocktide  fyghte, 
Are  yoked  bie  the  necke  within  a sparre, 

Theie  rend  the  erthe,  and  travellyrs  alFryghte, 
Lackynge  to  gage  the  sportive  bloudie  warre ; 
Soe  lacked  Harroldes  menne  to  come  to  blowes, 
The  Normans  lacked  for  to  wielde  their  bowes. 

IV. 

Kynge  Harrolde  turnynge  to  hys  leegemen 
spake  : 

My  merrie  men,  be  not  cast  downe  in  mynde ; 
Your  onlie  lode  for  aye  to  mar  or  make, 

Before  yon  sunne  has  donde  his  welke  you’ll 
fynde. 

Your  lovyng  wife,  who  erst  dyd  rid  the  londe 
Of  Lurdanes,  and  the  treasure  that  you  han,^ 


1 The  capital  blunder  which  runs  through  all  these  poems, 
and  would  alone  be  sufficient  to  destroy  their  credit,  is  the 
termination  of  verbs  of  the  singular  number  in  n;  ‘ han  ’ is 
in  twenty-six  instances  used  in  these  poems,  for  the  present 
or  past  time  singular  of  the  verb  ‘have  * But  ‘han,’  being 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


183 


Wyll  falle  into  the  Nornianne  robber’s  lamdc, 
Unlesse  with  honde  and  harte  you  plaie  the  manne. 
Cheer  up  youre  hartes,  chase  sorrowe  farre 
awaie, 

Godde  and  Seyncte  Cuthbert  be  the  worde  to 
daie. 

V. 

And  thenne  Duke  Wyllyam  to  his  knyghtes  did 
saie  : 

My  merrie  inenne,  be  bravelie  everiche  ; 

Gif  I do  gayn  the  honore  of  the  daie, 

Ech  one  of  you  I wyll  make  myckle  riche. 

Beer  you  in  mynde,  we  for  a kyngdomm  fyghte ; 
Lordshippes  and  honores  echone  shall  possesse ; 
Be  this  the  worde  to  daie,  God  and  my  Ryghte  ; 
Ne  doubte  but  God  will  oure  true  cause  blesse. 
The  clarions  then  sounded  sharpe  and  shrille ; 
Deathdoeynge  blades  were  out  intent  to  kille. 


VI. 

And  brave  Kyng  Harrolde  had  nowe  donde  hys 
sale ; 

lie  threwe  wythe  myghte  amayne  hys  shorte 
horse-spear. 

The  noise  it  made  the  duke  to  turn  awaie. 

And  hytt  his  knyghte,  de  Beque,  upon  the  ear. 
His  cristede  beaver  dyd  him  smalle  abounde ; 

ftn  abbreviation  of  ‘ haven,’  is  never  used  by  any  ancient 
writer,  except  in  the  present  time  plural,  and  the  infinitive 
mood.  — T YRWHITT. 


184 


ROWLEY  FOLKS. 


The  cruel  spear  went  thorough  all  his  hede  > 

The  purpel  bloude  came  goushjnge  to  the 
grounde, 

And  at  Duke  Wyllyam’s  feet  he  tumbled  deade : 
So  fell  the  myghtie  tower  of  Standrip,  whenne 
It  felte  the  furie  of  the  Danish  menne. 

VII. 

O Afflem,  son  of  Cuthbert,  holie  Sayncte, 

Come  ayde  thy  freend,  and  she  we  Duke  Wyllyams 
payne ; 

Take  up  thy  pencyl,  all  hys  features  paincte ; 
Thy  coloryng  excells  a synger  strayne. 

Duke  Wyllyam  sawe  hys  freende  sleyne  pite- 
ouslie, 

His  lovynge  freende  whome  he  muche  honored. 
For  he  han  loved  hym  from  puerilitie, 

And  theie  together  bothe  han  bin  ybred : 

O ! in  Duke  Wyllyam’s  harte  it  raysde  a flame, 
To  whiche  the  rage  of  emptie  wolves  is  tame. 

VIII. 

He  tooke  a brasen  crosse-bowe  in  his  honde, 

And  drewe  it  harde  with  all  hys  myghte  amein, 
Ne  doubtyng  but  the  bravest  in  the  londe 
Han  by  his  soundynge  arrowe-lede  bene  sleyne. 
Alured’s  stede,  the  fynest  stede  alive, 

Bye  comelie  forme  knowlached  from  the  rest ; 
But  nowe  Ids  destind  howre  dyd  aryve, 

The  arrowe  hyt  upon  his  milkwhiie  breste : 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


185 


So  have  I seen  a ladie-smock  soe  white, 

Blown  in  the  mornynge,  and  mowd  downe  at 
night. 

IX. 

With  thilk  a force  it  dyd  his  bodie  gore, 

That  in  his  tender  guttes  it  entered. 

In  veritee  a fulle  clothe  yarde  or  more,^ 

And  downe  with  flaiten  noyse  he  sunken  dede. 
Brave  Alured,  benethe  his  faithfull  horse, 

Was  smeerd  all  over  withe  the  gorie  duste, 

And  on  hym  laie  the  recer’s  liikewarme  corse. 
That  Alured  coulde  not  hymself  aluste. 

The  standyng  Normans  di-ew  theyr  bowe 
echone. 

And  broght  full  manie  Englysh  champyons 
downe. 

X. 

The  Normans  kept  aloofe,  at  distaunce  stylle. 

The  Englysh  nete  but  short  horse-spears  could 
welde ; 

The  Englysh  manie  dethe-sure  dartes  did  kille. 
And  manie  arrowes  twang’d  upon  the  sheelde. 
Kynge  Haroldes  knyghts  desir’de  for  hendie 
stroke. 

And  marched  furious  o’er  the  bloudie  pleyne, 

Tn  bodie  close,  and  made  the  pleyne  to  smoke  ; 

^ “ With  such  a force  and  vehement  might 
He  did  his  body  gore, 

The  spear  went  thro’  the  other  side, 

A large  cloth  yard  and  more.” — Chevy  Chace. 


186 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


rheire  slieelds  rebounded  arrowes  back  agayne. 
The  Normans  stode  aloofe,  nor  hede  the' same, 
Their  arrowes  woulde  do  dethe,  tho’  from  far 
off  they  came. 


XI. 

Duke  Wyllyam  drewe  agen  nys  arrowe  stryngo, 
An  arrowe  withe  a sylver-hede  drewe  he  ; 

The  arrowe  dauncynge  in  the  ayre  dyd  synge, 
And  hytt  the  horse  Tosselyn  on  the  knee. 

At  this  brave  Tosslyn  threwe  his  short  horse-speare, 
Duke  Wyllyam  stooped  to  avoyde  the  bio  we  ; 
The  yrone  weapon  hummed  in  his  eare, 

And  hitte  Sir  Doullie  Naibor  on  the  pro  we ; 

Upon  his  helme  soe  furious  was  the  stroke, 

It  splete  his  bever,  and  the  ryvets  broke. 

XII. 

Downe  fell  the  beaver  by  Tosslyn  splete  in  tweine, 
And  onn  his  hede  expos’d  a punie  wounde, 

But  on  Destoutvilles  sholder  came  ameine, 

And  fell’d  the  champyon  to  the  bloudie  grounde. 
Then  Doullie  myghte  his  bowestrynge  drewe, 
Enthoughte  to  gyve  brave  Tosslyn  bloudie 
wounde, 

But  Harolde’s  asenglave  stopp’d  it  as  it  flewe, 
Aid  it  fell  bootless  on  the  bloudie  grounde. 

Si  ere  Doullie,  when  he  sawe  hys  venge  thus 
broke, 

Death-doynge  blade  from  out  the  scabard  toke 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


187 


XIII. 

And  nowe  the  battail  closde  on  everych  syde, 

And  face  to  face  appeard  the  knyghts  full  brave ; 
They  lifted  up  theire  bylies  with  myckle  pryde, 
And  manie  woundes  unto  the  Normans  gave. 

So  have  I sene  two  weirs  at  once  give  grounde, 
White  fomyng  hygh  to  rorynge  combat  runne ; 

In  roaryng  dyn  and  heaven-breaking  sounde, 
Burste  waves  on  waves,  and  spangle  in  the  sunne ; 
And  when  their  myghte  in  burstynge  waves  is 
fled, 

Like  cowards,  stele  alonge  their  ozy  bede. 

XIV. 

Yonge  Egelrede,  a knyghte  of  comelie  mien, 
Affynd  unto  the  kynge  of  Dynefarre, 

At  echone  tylte  and  tourney  he  was  seene. 

And  lov’d  to  be  amonge  the  bloudie  warre  ; 

He  couch’d  hys  launce,  and  ran  wyth  mickle  my ghle 
Ageinste  the  brest  of  Sieur  de  Bonoboe  ; 

He  grond  and  sunken  on  the  place  of  fyghte, 

0 Chryste  ! to  fele  his  wounde,  his  harte  was  woe. 
Ten  thousand  thoughtes  push’d  in  upon  his 
mynde. 

Not  for  hymselfe,  but  those  he  left  \ ehynde. 


XV. 

He  dy’d  and  lefled  wyfe  and  chyldren  tweine, 
Whom  he  wytli  cheryshment  did  dearlie  love  ; 


188 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


In  England’s  court,  in  goode  Kynge  Edwaide'a 
regne, 

He  wonne  the  tjlte,  and  ware  her  crjmson 
glove ; 

And  thence  unto  the  place  where  he  was  borne, 
Together  with  hys  welthe  and  better  wyfe. 

To  Normandie  he  dyd  perdie  returne. 

In  peace  and  quietnesse  to  lead  his  lyfe ; 

And  now  with  sovrayn  Wyllyam  he  came, 

To  die  in  battel,  or  get  welthe  and  fame. 

XVI. 

Then,  swefte  as  lyghtnynge  Egelredus  set 
Agaynst  du  Barlie  of  the  mounten  head  ; 

In  his  dere  hartes  blonde  his  longe  launce  was 
wett. 

And  from  his  courser  down  he  tumbled  dede. 

So  have  I sene  a mountayne  oak,  that  longe 
Has  caste  his  shadowe  to  the  mountayne  syde. 
Brave  all  the  wyndes,  tho’  ever  they  so  stronge, 
And  view  the  briers  belowe  with  self-taught 
pride ; 

But,  whan  throwne  downe  by  mightie  thunder 
stroke, 

He’de  rather  bee  a bryer  than  an  oke. 

XVII. 

Then  Egelred  dyd  in  a declynie 

Hys  launce  uprere  wyth  all  hys  myghte  ameine, 

And  Strok  Fitzport  upon  the  dexter  eye. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


189 


4nd  at  liis  pole  the  spear  came  out  agayne. 

Butt  as  he  drewe  it  forthe,  an  arrowe  fledde 
Wjth  mickle  mjght  sent  from  de  Tracy’s  bowe, 
And  at  hys  side  the  arrowe  entered, 

And  oute  the  crymson  streme  of  bloude  gan  flowe ; 
Li  purple  strekes  it  dyd  his  armer  staine, 

And  smok’d  in  puddles  on  the  dustie  plaine. 

XVIII. 

But  Egelred,  before  he  sunken  downe, 

With  all  liis  myghte  amein  his  spear  besped, 

It  hytte  Bertrammil  Manne  upon  the  crowne, 

And  bothe  together  quicklie  sunken  dede. 

So  have  I seen  a rocke  o’er  others  hange, 

Who  stronghe  plac’d  laughde  at  his  slippry  state, 
But  when  he  falls  with  heaven-peercynge  hange 
That  he  the  sleeve  unravels  all  theire  fate. 

And  broken  onn  the  beech  thys  lesson  speak. 
The  stronge  and  firme  should  not  defame  the 
weake. 


XIX. 

Howel  ap  Jevah  came  from  Matraval, 

Where  he  by  chaunce  han  slayne  a noble’s  son, 
And  now  was  come  to  fyghte  at  Harold’s  call, 
And  in  the  battel  he  much  goode  han  done ; 
Unto  Kyng  Harold  he  foughte  mickle  near, 

For  he  was  yeoman  of  the  bodie  guard ; 

And  with  a targyt  and  a fyghtyng  spear. 

He  of  his  boddie  han  kepte  watch  and  ward : 


190 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


True  as  a shadow  to  a substant  thynge, 

So  true  he  guarded  Harold  hys  good  kyngc. 

XX. 

But  when  Egelred  tumbled  to  the  grounde, 

He  from  Kynge  Harolde  quicklie  dyd  advaunce. 
And  strooke  de  Trade  thilk  a crewel  wounde, 
Hys  harte  and  lever  came  out  on  the  launce. 
And  then  retreted  for  to  guarde  his  kynge, 

On  dented  launce  he  bore  the  harte  awaie ; 

An  arrowe  came  from  Auffroie  Griefs  strynge, 
Into  hys  heele  betwyxt  hys  yron  staie ; 

The  gr^-^oose  pynion,  that  thereon  was  sett, 
Eftsoons  wyth  smokyng  crymson  bloud  was 
wettJ 


XXL 

His  blonde  at  this  was  waxen  flaminge  hotte, 
Without  adoe  he  turned  once  agayne, 

And  hytt  de  Griel  thilk  a blowe,  God  wote, 
Maugre  hys  helme,  he  splete  his  hede  in  twayne. 
This  Auffroie  was  a manne  of  mickle  pryde, 
Whose  featliest  bewty  ladden  in  his  face ; 

His  chaunce  in  warr  he  ne  before  ban  tryde, 

But  lyv’d  in  love  and  Rosaline’s  embrace ; 

And  like  a useless  weede  amonge  the  haie 
Amonge  the  sleine  warriours  Griel  laie. 

l“The  grey-goose  wing  that  was  thereon, 

In  his  heart’s  blood  was  wet.” — Chevy  Chace. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


191 


XXII. 

Kynge  Harolde  then  he  putt  hys  yeomen  hie, 

Ajid  fershe  ryd  into  the  bloudie  fyghte ; 

Erie  Ethelwolf,  and  Goodrich,  and  Aide, 

Cuthbert,  and  Goddard,  mical  menne  of  myghte, 
Ethel  win,  Ethelbert,  and  Edwin  too, 

Effred  the  famous,  and  Erie  Ethelwarde, 

Kynge  Harold’s  leegemenn,  erlies  hie  and  true, 
Rode  after  hym,  his  bodie  for  to  guarde ; 

The  reste  of  erlies,  fyghtynge  other  wheres, 
Stamed  with  Norman  bloude  theire  fyghtynge 
speres. 

XXIII. 

As  when  some  ryver  with  the  season-raynes 
Wliite  fomynge  hie  doth  breke  the  bridges  oft, 
O’erturns  the  hamelet  and  all  conteins. 

And  layeth  o’er  the  hylls  a muddie  soft ; 

So  Harold  ranne  upon  his  Normanne  foes. 

And  layde  the  greate  and  small  upon  the  grounde, 
And  delte  among  them  tliilke  a store  of  blowes. 
Full  manie  a Normanne  fell  by  him  dede  wounde; 
So  who  he  be  that  ouphant  faieries  strike. 
Their  soules  will  wander  to  Kynge  OfFa’s  dyke. 

XXIV. 

Fitz  Salnarville,  Duke  William’s  favourite  knyghte, 
To  noble  Edelwarde  his  life  dyd  yielde ; 
vV’ithe  hys  tylte  launce  hee  stroke  with  thilk  a 
myghte. 


192 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


The  Norman’s  bowels  steemde  upon  the  feeld. 

Old  Sahiarville  beheld  his  son  lie  ded, 

Against  Erie  Edelwarde  his  bowe-strynge  drewe; 
But  Harold  at  one  blowe  made  tweine  his  head ; 
He  dj’d  before  the  poignant  arrowe  flew. 

So  was  the  hope  of  all  the  issue  gone, 

And  in  one  battle  fell  the  sire  and  son. 

xxy. 

De  Aubignee  rod  fercelj  thro’  the  fyghte, 

To  where  the  boddie  of  Salnarville  laie ; 

Quod  he;  Ajid  art  thou  ded,  thou  manne  of 
myghte  ? 

m be  reveng’d,  or  die  for  thee  this  daie. 

Die  then  thou  shall,  Erie  Ethelwarde  he  said ; 

I am  a cunnynge  erle,  and  that  can  tell ; 

Then  drew  hys  swerde,  and  ghastlie  cut  hys  hede, 
And  on  his  freend  eftsoons  he  lifeless  fell. 

Stretch’d  on  the  bloudie  pleyne;  great  God 
forefend. 

It  be  the  fate  of  no  such  trustie  freende ! 

XXVI. 

Then  Egwin  Sieur  Pikeny  did  attaque ; 

He  turned  aboute  and  vilely  souten  flie ; 

But  Egwyn  cutt  so  deepe  into  his  backe, 

He  rolled  on  the  grounde  and  soon  dyd  die. 

His  distant  sonne.  Sire  Romara  de  Biere, 

Soughte  to  revenge  his  fallen  kynsman’s  lote, 

But  soone  Erie  Cuthbert’s  dented  fyghtyng  spear 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


193 


Stqcke  in  his  harte,  and  stajd  liis  speed,  God  wote. 
He  tumbled  downe  close  bj  bjs  kjnsman’s 
syde, 

Myngled  their  stremes  of  pourple  bloude,  and 
dy’d. 


XXVII. 

And  now  an  arrowe  from  a bowe  unwote 
Into  Erie  Cuthbert’s  harte  eftsoons  dyd  flee ; 

Who  dying  sayd ; Ah  me ! how  hard  my  lote  ! 
Now  slayne,  mayhap,  of  one  of  lowe  degree. 

So  have  I seen  a leafie  elm  of  yore 
Have  been  the  pride  and  glorie  of  the  pleine ; 
But,  when  the  spendyng  landlord  is  growne  poore, 
It  falls  benethe  the  axe  of  some  rude  sweine  ; 
And  like  the  oke,  the  sovran  of  the  woode, 

Its  fallen  boddie  teUs  you  how  it  stoode. 

XXVIII. 

When  Edelward  perceevd  Erie  Cuthbert  die, 

On  Hubert  strongest  of  the  Normanne  crewe, 

As  wolfs  when  hungred  on  the  cattel  flie, 

So  Edelward  amaine  upon  him  flewe. 

With  thilk  a force  he  hyt  hym  to  the  grounde ; 
And  was  demasing  howe  to  take  his  life, 

When  he  behynde  received  a ghastlie  wounde 
Gyven  by  De  Torcie,  with  a stabbyng  knyfe ; 
Base  trecherous  Normannes,  if  such  actes  you 
doe. 

The  conquer’d  maie  dame  victorie  of  you. 

VOL.  II.  13 


194 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


XXIX. 

The  erlie  felt  de  Torcie’s  treacherous  knyfe 
Han  mad(i  his  crymson  bloude  and  spirits  floe ; 
And  luiowlachyng  he  soon  must  quyt  this  lyfe, 
Resolved  Hubert  should  too  with  hym  goe. 

He  held  hys  trustie  swerd  against  his  breste, 

And  down  he  fell,  and  peerc’d  him  to  the  harte ; 
And  both  together  then  did  tal^e  their  reste, 

Their  soules  from  corpses  unaknelfd  ^ depart ; 
And  both  together  soughte  the  unknown  shore, 
Where  we  shall  goe,  where  manie’s  gon  before. 


XXX. 

Kynge  Harolde  Torcie’s  trechery  dyd  spie. 

And  hie  alofe  his  temper’d  swerde  dyd  welde. 

Cut  offe  his  arme,  and  made  the  bloude  to  flie. 
His  proofe  steel  armoure  did  him  littel  sheelde ; 
And  not  con  ten  te,  he  splete  his  hede  in  twaine. 
And  down  he  tumbled  on  the  bloudie  grounde ; 
Meanwhile  the  other  erlies  on  the  playne 
Gave  and  received  manie  a bloudie  wounde. 

Such  as  the  arts  in  warre  han  learnt  with  care. 
But  manie  knyghtes  were  women  in  men’s  geer 

XXXI. 

Herrewald,  borne  on  Sarim’s  spreddyng  plaine, 
Wheni  Thor’s  fam’d  temple  manie  ages  stoode ; 

I Without  the  funeral  knell  being  rung. 

*'  Unhousell’d,  unanointed,  unahneW dy 

Hamlet,  in  Pope's  Edition. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


195 


Wbei  e Druids,  auncient  preests  dyd  ryghtes  or- 
daine, 

And  in  the  middle  shed  the  victyms  bloude ; 
Where  auneient  Bardi  dyd  their  verses  synge, 

Of  Coesar  conquer’d,  and  his  mighty  hoste, 

And  how  old  Tynyan,  necromancing  kynge, 
Wreck’d  all  hys  shyppyng  on  the  Brittish  coaste, 
And  made  hym  in  his  tatter’d  barks  to  flie, 

’Till  Tynyan’s  dethe  and  opportunity. 

XXXII. 

To  make  it  more  renomed  than  before, 

(I,  tho’  a Saxon,  yet  the  truthe  will  telle) 

The  Saxonnes  steynd  the  place  wyth  Brittish  gore^ 
Where  nete  but  bloud  of  sacrifices  felle. 

Tho’  Chrystians,  sty  lie  they  thoghte  mouche  of 
the  pile. 

And  here  theie  mette  when  causes  dyd  it  neede ; 
’Twas  here  the  auncient  Elders  of  the  Isle 
Dyd  by  the  trecherie  of  Hengist  bleede ; 

O Hengist ! ban  thy  cause  bin  good  and  true, 
Thou  wouldst  such  murdrous  acts  as  these  es- 
chew. 

XXXIII. 

The  erlie  was  a manne  of  hie  degree, 

And  han  that  daie  full  manie  Normannes  sleine ; 
Three  Norman  Champyons  of  hie  degree 
He  lefte  to  smoke  upon  the  bloudie  pleine : 

The  Sier  Fitzbotevilleine  did  then  advaunce, 

And  with  his  bowe  he  smote  the  erhes  hede ; 


19G 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Who  eftsoons  gored  hym  with  his  tyliing  laance, 
And  at  his  horses  feet  he  tumbled  dede ; 

His  partyng  spirit  hovered  o’er  the  floude 
Of  soddayne  roushynge  mouche  lov’d  purple 
bloude. 


XXXIV. 

De  Yiponte  then,  a squier  of  low  degree, 

An  arrowe  drewe  with  all  his  myghte  ameine ; 
The  arrowe  graz’d  upon  the  erlies  knee, 

A punie  wounde,  that  caus’d  but  littel  peine. 

So  have  I seene  a Dolthead  place  a stone, 
Enthoghte  to  stale  a driving  rivers  course ; 

But  better  han  it  bin  to  lett  alone. 

It  onlie  drives  it  on  with  mickle  force ; 

The  erlie,  wounded  by  so  base  a hynde, 

Rays’d  furyous  doyngs  in  his  noble  mynde. 

XXXV. 

The  Siere  Chatillion,  yonger  of  that  name, 
Advaunced  next  before  the  erlie’s  syghte ; 

His  fader  was  a manne  of  mickle  fame. 

And  he  renomde  and  valorous  in  fyghte, 
Chatillion  his  trustie  swerd  forth  drewe. 

The  erle  drawes  his,  menne  both  of  mickle  myghte ; 
And  at  eche  other  vengouslie  they  flewe. 

As  mastie  dogs  at  Hocktide  set  to  fyghte ; 

Bothe  scorn’d  to  yeelde,  and  bothe  abhor’de  to 
flie. 

Resolv’d  to  vanquishe,  or  resolv’d  to  die. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


197 


XXXVI. 

Chatillion  lijt  the  erlie  on  the  hede, 

Thatt  splytte  eftsoons  hys  cristed  helm  in  twayne ; 
Whiche  he  perforce  withe  target  covered, 

And  to  the  battel  went  with  myghte  ameine. 

The  erlie  hytte  Chatillion  thilke  a blowe 
Upon  his  breste,  his  harte  was  plein  to  see ; 

He  tumbled  at  the  horses  feet  alsoe, 

And  in  dethe-panges  he  seez’d  the  recer’s  knee: 
Faste  as  the  ivy  rounde  the  oke  doth  clymbe, 
So  faste  he  dying  gryp’d  the  racer’s  lymbe. 

XXXVII. 

The  recer  then  beganne  to  flynge  and  kicke, 

And  toste  the  erlie  farr  oft'  to  the  grounde ; 

The  erlie’s  squier  then  a swerde  did  sticke 
Into  his  harte,  a dedlie  ghastlie  wounde  ; 

And  downe  he  felle  upon  the  crymson  pleine, 
Upon  Chatillion’s  soulless  corse  of  claie ; 

A puddlie  streme  of  bloude  flow’d  oute  ameine ; 
Stretch’d  out  at  length  besmer’d  with  gore  he  laie  ; 
As  some  tall  oke  fell’d  from  the  greenie  plaine, 
To  live  a second  time  upon  the  main. 

XXXVIII. 

The  erlie  nowe  an  horse  and  beaver  han. 

And  nowe  agayne  appered  on  the  feeld ; 

And  manie  a mickle  knyghte  and  mightie  manne 
To  his  dethe-doyng  swerd  his  life  did  yeeld ; 


198 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


When  Siere  de  Broque  an  arrowe  longe  lett  flie, 
Intending  llerewaldus  to  have  sleyne  ; 

It  miss’d ; butt  hytt  Edardus  on  the  eye, 

And  at  liis  pole  came  out  with  horrid  payne. 
Edardus  felle  upon  the  bloudie  grounde, 

His  noble  soule  came  roushyng  from  the 
wounde.^ 

XXXIX. 

riiys  Herewald  perceev’d,  and  full  of  ire 
He  on  the  Siere  de  Broque  with  furie  came ; 
Quod  he  ; thou’st  slaughtred  my  beloved  squier, 
But  I will  be  revenged  for  the  same. 

Into  his  bowels  then  his  launce  he  thruste, 

And  drew  thereout  a steemie  drerie  lode  ; 

Quod  he  ; these  offals  are  for  ever  curst, 

Shall  serve  the  coughs,  and  rooks,  and  dawes  for 
foode. 

Then  on  the  pleine  the  steemie  lode  he  throwde, 
Smokynge  wyth  lyfe,  and  dy’d  with  crymson 
bloude. 

XL. 

Fitz  Broque,  who  saw  his  father  killen  lie. 

Ah  me  ; sayde  he  ; what  woeful  syghte  I see  ! 
But  now  I must  do  somethynge  more  than  sighe  ; 
And  then  an  arrow^e  from  the  bowe  drewe  he. 

“ And  the  disdainful  soul  came  rushing  through  the  wound.” 

Dryden’s  Virgil, 

This  is  the  last  line  in  the  translation,  and  as  such,  is  ver* 
likely  to  have  attracted  the  attention  of  Chatterton. 


BATTLE  OK  HASTINGS. 


199 


Benelh  the  erlie’s  navil  came  the  darte ; 

Fitz  Broque  on  foote  han  drawne  it  from  the 
bowe ; 

And  upwards  went  into  the  erlie’s  harte, 

And  out  the  crymson  streme  of  bloude  ’gan  flowe. 
As  fromm  a hatch,  drawne  with  a vehement 
geir, 

White  rushe  the  burstynge  waves,  and  roar 
along  the  weir. 


XLI. 

The  erle  with  one  honde  grasp’d  the  recer’s 
mayne. 

And  with  the  other  he  his  launce  besped ; 

And  then  felle  bleedyng  on  the  bloudie  plaine. 
His  launce  it  hytte  Fitz  Broque  upon  the  hede ; 
Upon  his  hede  it  made  a wounde  full  slyghte, 

But  peerc’d  his  shoulder,  ghastlie  wounde  infeme. 
Before  his  optics  daunced  a shade  of  nyghte, 
Whyche  soone  were  closed  ynn  a sleepe  eterne. 
The  noble  erhe  than,  withote  a grone. 

Took  flyghte,  to  fynde  the  regyons  unknowne. 

XLII. 

Brave  Alured  from  binethe  his  noble  horse 
Was  gotten  on  his  leggs,  with  bloude  all  smore  ; 
And  now  eletten  on  another  horse, 

Eftsoons  he  withe  his  launce  did  manie  gore. 

The  cowart-  Norman  knyghtes  before  hym  fledde, 
And  from  a distaunce  sent  their  arrowes  keene  : 


200 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


But  noe  such  destinie  awaits  his  hedde, 

As  to  be  slejen  by  a wighte  so  meene. 

Tho’  oft  the  oke  falls  by  the  villen’s  shock, 
’Tys  moe  than  hyndes  can  do,  to  move  the 
rock. 


XLIII. 

Upon  Du  Chatelet  he  ferselie  sett, 

And  peerc’d  his  bodie  with  a force  full  grete ; 
The  asenglave  of  his  tylt-launce  was  wett. 

The  rollynge  bloude  alonge  the  launce  did  fleet. 
Advauncynge,  as  a mastie  at  a bull. 

He  rann  his  launce  into  Fitz  Warren’s  harte ; 
From  Partaies  bowe,  a wight  unmercifull. 

Within  his  owne  he  felt  a cruel  darte ; 

Close  by  the  Norman  champyons  he  han  sleine, 
He  fell ; and  mixd  his  bloude  with  theirs  upon 
the  pleine. 


XLIV. 

Erie  Ethelbert  then  hove,  with  clinie  just, 

A launce,  that  stroke  Partaie  upon  the  tliighe, 
And  pinn’d  him  downe  unto  the  gorie  duste ; 
Cruel,  quod  he,  thou  cruellie  shalt  die. 

With  that  his  launce  he  enterd  at  his  throte ; 

He  scritch’d  and  screem’d  in  melancholic  mood  ; 
And  at  his  backe  eftsoons  came  out,  God  wote, 
And  after  it  a cry m son  streme  of  bloude : 

In  agonie  and  peine  he  there  dyd  lie. 

While  life  and  dethe  strove  for  the  masterrie. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


201 


XLV. 

He  grjped  hard  the  bloiidie  murdering  launce, 
And  in  a grone  he  left  this  mortal  lyfe. 

Behjnde  the  erlie  Fiscampe  did  advaunce, 
Bethoghte  to  kill  him  with  a stabbynge  knife  ; 
But  Egward,  who  perceev’d  his  fowle  intent, 
Eftsoons  his  trustie  swerde  he  forthwyth  drewe, 
And  thilke  a cruel  bio  we  to  Fiscampe  sent, 

That  soule  and  bodie’s  bloude  at  one  gate  flewe. 
Thilk  deeds  do  all  deserve,  whose  deeds  so 
fowle 

Will  black  theire  earthlie  name,  if  not  their 
soule.  • 

XLVI. 

When  lo  ! an  arrowe  from  Walleris  honde. 
Winged  with  fate  and  dethe  daunced  alonge  ; 
And  slewe  the  noble  flower  of  Powyslonde, 
Howel  ap  Jevah,  who  yclepd  the  stronge. 

Whan  he  the  first  mischaunce  received  han, 

With  horsemans  haste  he  from  the  armie  rodde  ; 
And  did  repaire  unto  the  cunnynge  manne. 

Who  sange  a charme,  that  dyd  it  mickle  goode  ; 
Then  praid  Seyncte  Cuthbert,  and  our  holie 
Dame, 

To  blesse  his  labour,  and  to  heal  the  same. 

XL  VII. 

Then  drewe  the  arrowe,  and  the  wounde  did  seek. 
And  putt  the  teint  of  holie  herbies  on ; 


202 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


And  putt  a rowe  of  bloude-stones  round  his  neck  ; 
And  then  did  say  ; “ go,  champyon,  get  agone.’^ 
And  now  was  comynge  Harj*oide  to  defend, 

And  metten  with  Walleris  cruel  darte; 

His  sheelde  of  wolf-skinn  did  him  not  attend, 

The  arrow  peerced  into  his  noble  harte ; 

As  some  tall  oke,  hewn  from  the  mountayue 
hed, 

Falls  to  the  pleine ; so  fell  the  warriour  dede. 

XLVIII. 

His  countryman,  brave  Mervyn  ap  Teudor, 

Who  love  of  hym  han  from  his  country  gone, 
When  he  perceev’d  his  friend  he  i^i  his  gore. 

As  furious  as  a mountayn  wolf  he  ranne. 

As  ouphant  faieries,  whan  the  moone  sheenes 
bryghte. 

In  httel  circles  daunce  upon  the  greene, 

AU  living  creatures  flie  far  from  their  syghte, 

,Ne  by  the  race  of  destinie  be  seen ; 

For  what  he  be  that  ouphant  faieries  stryke. 
Their  soules  will  wander  to  Kyng  Olfa’s  dyke. 

XLIX. 

So  from  the  face  of  Mervyn  Tewdor  brave 
The  Normans  eftsoons  fled  awaie  aghaste : 

And  lefte  behynde  their  bowe  and  asenglave. 

For  fear  of  hym,  in  thilk  a cowart  haste. 

His  garb  suflicient  were  to  meve  affryghte; 

A Wi)lf  skin  girded  round  his  myddle  was  ; 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


203 


A bear  skjn,  from  Norwegians  wan  in  fygbte, 
Was  tytend  round  his  shoulders  by  the  claws : 
So  Hercules,  ’tis  sunge,  much  like  to  him, 
Upon  his  shoulder  wore  a lyon’s  skin.i 


L. 

Upon  his  thyghes  and  harte-swefte  legges  he  wore 

A hugie  goat  skyn,  all  of  one  grete  peice ; 

A boar-skyn  sheelde  on  his  bare  armes  he  bore  ; 

His  ga untie tts  were  the  skynn  of  harte  of  greece. 

They  fledde  ; he  followed  close  upon  their  heels, 

Vowynge  vengeance  for  his  deare  countrymanne ; 

And  Siere  de  Sancelotte  his  vengeance  feels  ; 

He  peerc’d  hys  backe,  and  out  the  bloude  ytt 
ranne. 

His  bloude  went  downe  the  swerde  unto  his 
arme, 

In  springing  rivulet,  alive  and  warme. 

LI. 

His  swerde  was  shorte,  and  broade,  and  myckle 
keene, 

And  no  mann’s  bone  could  stonde  to  stoppe  itts 
waie ; 

' “ And  then  about  his  shoulders  broad  he  threw  * 

A hoary  hide  of  some  wild  beast,  whom  he 
In  salvage  forest  by  adventure  slew, 

And  reft  the  spoil  his  ornament  to  be  ; 

Which  spreading  all  his  back  with  dreadful  view, 
Made  all  that  him  so  horrible  did  see, 

Th:nk  him  Alcides  in  a lion’s  skin, 

Wlien  the  Nemean  conquest  he  did  win.” 

Spenser’s  Midopotmus^  Stanza  ix. 


204 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


The  Normann’s  harte  in  partes  two  cutt  cleane, 
He  clos’d  his  eyne,  and  clos’d  hys  eyne  for  aie. 
Then  with  his  swerde  he  sett  on  Fitz  du  Valle. 

A knyghte  mouch  famous  for  to  runne  at  tylte ; 
With  thilk  a furie  on  hym  he  dyd  falle, 

Into  his  neck  he  ranne  the  swerde  and  hylte ; 

As  myghtie  lyghtenynge  often  has  been  founde, 
To  drive  an  oke  into  unfallow’d  grounde. 

LII. 

And  with  the  swerde,  that  in  his  neck  yet  stoke, 
The  Norman  fell  unto  the  bloudie  grounde  ; 

And  with  the  fall  ap  Tewdore’s  swerde  he  broke, 
And  blonde  afreshe  came  trickling  from  the 
wounde. 

As  whan  the  hyndes,  before  a mountayne  wolfe, 
Flie  from  his  paws,  and  angrie  vysage  grym  ; 
But  when  he  falls  into  the  pittie  golphe. 

They  dare  hym  to  his  bearde,  and  battone  hym ; 
And  cause  he  fryghted  them  so  muche  before, 
Lyke  cowart  hyndes,  they  battone  hym  the 
more. 

LIII. 

So,  whan  they  sawe  ap  Tewdore  was  bereft 
Of  his  keen  swerde,  thatt  wroghte  thilke  great 
dismaie : 

They  turned  about,  eftsoons  upon  hym  lept, 

A.nd  full  a score  engaged  in  the  fraie. 

Mervyn  ap  Tewdore,  ragyng  as  a bear. 

Seiz’d  on  the  beaver  of  the  Sier  de  Laque ; 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


205 


And  wring’d  his  hedde  with  such  a vehement  gier, 
II is  visage  was  turned  round  unto  his  backe. 
Backe  to  his  harte  retyr’d  the  useless  gore, 
And  felle  upon  the  pleine  to  rise  no  more. 

LIV. 

Then  on  the  mighiie  Siere  Fitz  Pierce  he  flew, 
And  broke  his  helm  and  seiz’d  hym  hie  the  throte : 
Then  manie  Normann  knyghtes  their  arrowes 
drew, 

That  enter’d  into  Mervyn’s  harte,  God  wote. 

In  dying  panges  he  gryp’d  his  throte  more  stronge, 
And  from  their  sockets  started  out  his  eyes ; 

And  from  his  mouthe  came  out  his  blameless 
tonge  ; 

And  bothe  in  peyne  and  anguishe  eftsoon  dies. 

As  some  rude  rocke  tome  from  his  bed  of  claie, 
Stretch’d  onn  the  pleyne  the  brave  ap  Tewdore 
laie. 

LV. 

And  now  Erie  Ethelbert  and  Egward  came 
Brave  Mervyn  from  the  Normannes  to  assist ; 

A myghtie  siere,  Fitz  Chatulet  bie  name. 

An  arrowe  drew  that  dyd  them  lit  tel  hst. 

Erie  Egward  points  his  launce  at  Chatulet, 

And  Ethelbert  at  Walleris  set  his ; 

And  Egward  dyd  the  siere  a hard  blowe  hytt, 
But  Ethelbert  by  a myschaunce  dyd  miss : 

Fear  laide  Walleris  flat  upon  the  strande. 

He  ne  deserved  a death  from  erlies  hande. 


206 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


LVI. 

Betwyxt  the  ribbes  of  Sire  Fitz  Chatelet 
The  pojnted  launce  of  Egward  did  ypass ; 

The  distaunt  syde  thereof  was  ruddie  wet, 

And  he  fell  breathless  on  the  bloudie  grass. 

As  CO  wart  Walleris  laie  on  the  grounde, 

The  dreaded  weapon  hummed  o’er  his  heade, 
And  hytt  the  squier  thylke  a lethal  wounde, 
Upon  his  fallen  lorde  he  tumbled  dead  : 

Oh  shame  to  Norman  armes ! a lord  a slave, 
A capty ve  villeyn  than  a lorde  more  brave  ! 

LVII. 

From  Chatelet  hys  launce  Erie  Egward  drew, 
And  hit  Wallerie  on  the  dexter  cheek ; 

Peerc’d  to  his  braine,  and  cut  his  tongue  in  two : 
There,  knyght,  quod  he,  let  that  thy  actions 
speak  1 — 


iChatterton  owned  that  he  was  the  author  of  the  first 
“ Battle  of  Hastings.”  The  very  same  day  that  he  acknowl- 
edged this  forgery,  he  informed  Mr.  Barrett  that  he  had  an- 
other poem,  the  copy  of  an  original  by  Rowley;  and  at  a 
considerable  interval  of  time  (which  indeed  was  requisite  for 
writing  his  new  piece);  he  produced  another  “Battle  of 
Hastings,”  much  longer  than  the  former;  — a fair  copy  from 
lui  undoubted  original!  — Malone. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS.^ 


(No.  2.) 

I. 

Oh  Truth ! immortal  daughter  of  the  skies, 
Too  lyttle  known  to  wryters  of  these  dales, 
Teach  me,  fayre  Saincte  ! thy  passynge  woilhe 
to  pryze, 

To  blame  a friend  and  give  a foeman  prayse. 
The  fickle  moone,  bedeckt  wythe  sylver  rays, 
Leadynge  a traine  of  starres  of  feeble  lyghte. 
With  look  adigne  the  worlde  belowe  surveies, 
The  world,  that  wotted  not  it  coud  be  nyghte  ; 
Wyth  armour  dyd,  with  human  gore  ydeyd, 
She  sees  Kynge  Harolde  stande,  fayre  Englands 
curse  and  pryde. 

1 We  may  consider  this  poem,  not  as  a continuation  of  the 
former,  but  as  an  improved  work  of  the  same  author,  on  tlie 
same  subject;  in  which  he  has  diversified  many  of  the  his- 
torical events,  and  introduced  new  personages,  but  preserved 
the  same  style  and  metre,  and  used  the  same  kind  of  allusion 
and  similes  with  those  in  the  former  poem,  beginning  witli 
the  “ History  of  the  Battle,”  and  leaving  the  conclusion  im 
perfect.  — Dean  Milles. 


208 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


II. 

With  ale  and  vernage  drunk  his  souldiers  lay ; 
Here  was  an  hynde,  anie  an  erlie  spredde ; 

Sad  keepynge  of  their  leaders  natal  daie ! 

This  even  m drinke,  too-morrow  with  the  dead ! 
Thro’  everie  troope  disorder  reer’d  her  hedde ; 
Dancynge  and  heideignes  was  the  onlie  theme ; 
Sad  dome  was  theires,  who  lefte  this  easie  bedde. 
And  wak’d  in  torments  from  so  sweet  a dream. 
Duke  Williams  menne,  of  comeing  dethe  afraide, 
All  nyghte  to  the  great  Godd^  for  succour  ask’d 
and  praied. 

III. 

Thus  Harolde  to  his  wites  that  stoode  arounde ; 
Goe,  Gyrthe  and  Eilward,  take  bills  half  a score. 
And  search  how  farre  our  foeman’s  campe  doth 
bound ; 

Yourself  have  rede  ; I nede  to  sale  ne  more. 
My  brother  best  belov’d  of  anie  ore, 

My  Leofwinus,  goe  to  everich  wite, 

Tell  them  to  raunge  the  battel  to  the  grore, 
And  waiten  tyll  I sende  the  hest  for  fyghte. 

He  saide ; the  loieaul  broders  lefte  the  place, 
Success  and  cheerfulness  depicted  on  ech  face. 


IV. 

Slowelie  brave  Gyrthe  and  Eilwarde  dyd  ad. 
vaunce. 

And  markd  wyth  care  the  armies  dystant  syde, 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


209 


When  the  djre  clatterjnge  of  the  shielde  and 
hiunce 

Made  them  to  be  hj  Hugh  Fitzhugh  espy'd. 
He  lyfted  up  his  voice,  and  lowdlie  cry’d ; 

Like  wolfs  in  wintere  did  the  Normanne  yell ; 
Girthe  drew  hys  swerde,  and  cutte  hys  burled 
hyde ; 

The  proto-slene  manne  of  the  fielde  he  felle ; 
Out  streemd  the  bloude,  and  ran  in  smokynge 
curies, 

Reflected  bie  the  moone  seemd  rubies  mixt  wyth 
pearles. 

V. 

A troope  of  Normannes  from  the  mass-songe 
came, 

Rousd  from  their  praiers  by  the  dotting  crie ; 
Thoughe  Girthe  and  Ailwardus  perceev’d  the 
same, 

Not  once  theie  stoode  abash’d,  or  thoghte  to 
flie. 

He  seizd  a bill,  to  conquer  or  to  die  ; 

Fierce  as  a clevis  from  a rocke  ytorne. 

That  makes  a vallie  wheresoe’re  it  lie ; 

Fierce  as  a ryver  burstynge  from  the  borne ; 

So  fiercelie  Gyrthe  hitte  Fitz  du  Gore  a bio  we, 
And  on  the  verdaunt  playne  he  layde  the  cham- 
pyone  lowe. 

VI. 

Tancarville  thus;  alle  peace  in  Williams  name  : 
Let  none  edraw  his  arcublaster  bowe : 

14 


VOL.  II. 


210 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Girthe  cas’d  his  weppone,  as  he  hearde  the 
same, 

And  vengynge  Normannes  staid  the  flyinge  floe. 
The  sire  wente  onne ; ye  menne,  what  mean  ye 
so 

Thus  unprovok’d  to  courte  a bloudie  fyghte  ? 
Quod  Gyrthe ; oure  meanynge  we  ne  care  to 
showe, 

Nor  dread  thy  duke  wyth  all  his  men  of  myghte ; 
Here  single  onlie  these  to  all  thie  crewe 
Shall  shewe  what  Englysh  handes  and  heartes 
can  doe. 

VII. 

Seek  not  for  blonde,  Tancarville  calme  reply’d. 
Nor  joie  in  dethe,  lyke  madmen  most  distraught 
In  peace  and  mercy  is  a Chrystian’s  pryde ; 

He  that  dothe  contestes  pryze  is  in  a faulte. 
And  now  the  news  was  to  Duke  William 
brought. 

That  men  of  Haroldes  armie  taken  were ; 

For  they’re  good  cheere  all  caties  were  en- 
thoughte. 

And  Gyrthe  and  Eilwardus  enjoi’d  goode 
cheere. 

Quod  Willyam ; thus  shall  Willyam  be  founde 
A friend  to  everie  manne  that  treads  on  English 
ground. 

VII. 

Erie  Leofwinus  throwghe  the  campe  ypass’d. 
And  sawe  bothe  men  and  erlies  on  the  grounde  , 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


211 


They  slepte,  as  thoughe  they  woulde  have  slepte 
theyr  last, 

And  hadd  alreadie  felte  theyr  fatale  wounde. 
He  started  backe,  and  was  wyth  shame  as- 
townd ; 

Loked  wanne  wyth  anger,  and  he  shooke  wyth 
rage; 

Wlien  through e the  hollow  tentes  these  wordes 
dyd  sound, 

Rowse  from  your  sleepe,  detratours  of  the  age  I 
Was  it  for  thys  the  stoute  Norwegian  bledde? 
Awake,  ye  huscarles,  now,  or  waken  wyth  the 
dead. 

IX. 

As  when  the  shepster  in  the  shadie  bowre 
In  jintle  slumbers  chase  the  heat  of  dale. 

Hears  doublyng  echoe  wind  the  wolfins  rore. 
That  nere  hys  flocke  is  watchynge  for  a praie. 
He  tremblynge  for  his  sheep  drives  dreeme 
awaie. 

Gripes  faste  hys  burled  croke,  and  sore  adradde 
Wyth  fleeting  strides  he  hastens  to  the  fraie. 
And  rage  and  prowess  fyres  the  coistrell  lad ; 
With  trustie  talbots  to  the  battel  flies. 

And  yell  of  men  and  dogs  and  wolfins  tear  the 
skies : 

X. 

Such  was  the  dire  confusion  of  eche  wite, 

That  rose  from  sleep  and  walsome  power  of 
wine ; 


212 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Tbeie  thoughte  the  foe  by  trecliit  yn  the 
nyghte 

Had  broke  theyr  camp  and  gotten  paste  the 
line ; 

Now  here,  now  there,  the  burnysht  sheeldes  and 
byllspear  shine ; 

Throwote  the  campe  a wild  confusionne 
spredde ; 

Eche  bracd  hys  armlace  siker  ne  desygne, 

The  crested  helmet  nodded  on  the  hedde ; 

Some  caught  a slughorne,  and  an  onsett  wounde ; 

Kynge  Harolde  hearde  the  charge,  and  wondred 
at  the  sounde. 


XI. 

Thus  Leofwine ; 0 women  cas’d  in  stele ! 

Was  itte  for  thys  Norwegia’s  stubborn  sede 

Throughe  the  black  armoure  dyd  the  anlace 
fele, 

And  rybbes  of  solid  brasse  were  made  to 
bleede  ? 

Whylst  yet  the  worlde  was  wondrynge  at  the 
deede. 

You  souldiers,  that  shoulde  stand  with  by  11  in 
hand. 

Get  full  of  wine,  devoid  of  any  rede. 

O shame ! oh  dyre  dishonoure  to  the  lande ! 

He  sayde ; and  shame  on  everie  visage  spredde, 
Ne  sawe  the  erlies  face,  but  addawd  hung  their 
head. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


213 


XII. 

Thus  he;  rowze  yee,  and  forme  the  boddie 
tyghte. 

The  Kentysh  menne  in  fronte,  for  strong  ht  re- 
nown’d, 

Next  the  Brystowans  dare  the  bloudie  fyghte, 
And  last  the  numerous  ere  we  shall  presse  the 
grounde. 

I and  my  king  be  wyth  the  Renters  founde  ; 
Bythric  and  Alfwold  hedde  the  Brystowe 
bande  ; 

And  Bertrams  sonne,  the  man  of  glorious 
wounde, 

Lead  in  the  rear  the  menged  of  the  lande ; 
And  let  the  Londoners  and  Sussers  plie 
Bie  Herewardes  memuine  and  the  lighte  skyi*ts 
anie. 

XIII. 

He  saide ; and  as  a packe  of  hounds  belent, 
When  that  the  trackyng  of  the  hare  is  gone, 

If  one  perchaunce  shall  hit  upon  the  scent, 
With  twa  redubbled  f huir  the  alans  run  ; 

So  styrrd  the  valiante  Saxons  everych  one ; 
Soone  linked  man  to  man  the  champyones 
stoode ; 

To  ’tone  for  their  bewrate  so  soone  ’twas  done. 
And  lyfted  bylls  enseem’d  an  yron  woode  ; 
Here  glorious  Alfwold  towr’d  above  the  wites, 
A.nd  seem’d  to  brave  the  fuir  of  twa  ten  thousand 
tights. 


214 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


XIV. 

Thus  Leoi wine ; to-day  will  Englandes  dome 

Be  fyxt  for  aie,  for  gode  or  evill  state ; 

This  sunnes  aunture  be  felt  for  years  to  come 

Then  bravelie  fyghte,  and  live  till  deathe  of  date. 

Thinke  of  brave  ^Ifridus,  yclept  the  grete, 

From  porte  to  porte  the  red-hair’d  Dane  he 
chas’d, 

The  Danes,  with  whomme  not  lyoncels  cou’d 
mate. 

Who  made  of  peopled  reaulms  a barren  waste ; 

Thinke  how  at  once  by  you  Norwegia  bled 
Whilste  dethe  and  victorie  for  magystrie  bested. 

XV. 

Meanwhile  did  Syrthe  unto  Kynge  Harolde 
ride, 

And  tolde  howe  he  dyd  with  Duke  Willyam 
fare. 

Brave  Harolde  look’d  askaunte,  and  thus  re- 
ply’d ; 

And  can  thie  fay  be  bowght  wyth  drunken 
cheer  ? 

Gyrthe  waxen  hotte ; fhuir  in  his  eyne  did 
glare ; 

And  thus  he  saide;  oh  brother,  friend,  and 
kynge. 

Have  I deserved  this  fremed  speche  to  here  ? 

Bie  Goddes  hie  hallidome  ne  thoughte  the 
thynge. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


215 


When  Tostus  sent  me  golde  and  sylver  store, 
f scorn’d  hys  present  vile,  and  scorn’d  hys  treason 
more. 

XVI. 

Forgive  me,  Gyrthe,  the  brave  Kynge  Harolde 
cry’d ; 

Who  can  I trust,  if  brothers  are  not  true  ? 

I t])ink  of  Tostus,  once  my  joie  and  pryde. 
Girthe  saide,  with  looke  adigne ; my  lord,  I doe. 
But  what  oure  foemen  are,  quod  Girthe,  I’li 
shewe ; 

By  Gods  hie  hallidome  they  preestes  are. 

Do  not,  quod  Harolde,  Girthe,  mystell  them  so, 
For  theie  are  everich  one  brave  men  at  warre. 
Quod  Girthe  ; why  will  ye  then  provoke  theyr 
hate? 

Quod  Harolde ; great  the  foe,  so  is  the  glorie  grete. 

XVII. 

And  now  Duke  Willyam  mareschalled  his 
band. 

And  stretch’d  his  armie  owte  a goodlie  rowe. 
First  did  a ranke  of  arcublastries  stande. 

Next  those  on  horsebacke  drew  the  ascendyng 
flo. 

Brave  champyones,  eche  well  lerned  in  the 
bowe, 

Theyr  asenglave  acrosse  theyr  horses  ty’d. 

Or  with  the  loverds  squier  behinde  dyd  goe. 

Or  waited  squier  lyke  at  the  horses  syde. 


216 


KO\yLEY  POEMS. 


When  thus  Duke  Willyam  to  a Monke  dyd 
saie, 

Prepare  thyselfe  wyth  spede,  to  Harolde  haste 
awaie. 

XVIII. 

Telle  hym  from  me  one  of  these  three  to  take ; 
That  hee  to  mee  do  homage  for  thys  lande, 

Or  mee  hys  heyre,  when  he  deceasyth,  make, 
Or  to  the  judgment  of  Chrysts  vicar  stande. 

He  saide  ; the  Monke  dopartyd  out  of  hande, 
And  to  Kyng  Harolde  dyd  this  message  bear ; 
Who  said  ; tell  thou  the  Duke,  at  his  likand 
If  he  can  gette  the  crown  hee  may  itte  wear. 
He  said,  and  drove  the  Monke  out  of  his 
syghte. 

And  with  his  brothers  rouz’d  each  manne  to 
bloudie  fyghte. 

XIX. 

A standarde  made  of  sylke  and  jewells  rare, 
Wherein  alle  coloures  wroughte  aboute  in 
bighes, 

An  ai*myd  knyghte  was  seen  deth-doynge 
there, 

Under  this  motte,  ‘ He  conquers  or  he  dies.’ 
This  standard  rych,  endazzlyng  mortal  eyes. 
Was  borne  neare  Harolde  at  the  Renters  heade, 
Wlio  charg’d  hys  broders  for  the  grete  empryze 
That  straite  the  hest  for  battle  should  be 
spredde. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


217 


To  eviy  erle  and  knyglite  the  worde  is  gyven, 
And  cries  a guerre  and  slughornes  shake  the 
vaulted  heaven. 


XX. 

As  when  the  erthe,  tome  by  convulsyons  dyre, 
In  reaulmes  of  darkness  hid  from  human 
syghte, 

The  warring  force  of  water,  air,  and  fyre, 
Brast  from  the  regions  of  eternal  nyghte. 

Thro  the  darke  caverns  seeke  the  reaulmes  of 
lyght; 

Some  loftie  mountaine,  by  its  fury  tome. 
Dreadfully  moves,  and  causes  grete  affryght ; 
Nowe  here,  now  there,  majestic  nods  the  bourne, 
And  awfulle  shakes,  mov’d  by  the  almighty  force, 
W^hole  woods  and  forests  nod,  and  ryvers  change 
theyr  course. 


XXI. 

So  did  the  men  of  war  at  once  advaunce. 
Link’d  man  to  man,  enseemed  one  boddie  light ; 
Above  a wood,  yform’d  of  bill  and  launce. 

That  noddyd  in  the  ayre  most  straunge  to 
syght. 

Harde  as  the  iron  were  the  menne  of  mighte, 
Ne  neede  of  slughornes  to  enrowse  theyr  minde ; 
Eche  shootynge  spere  yreaden  for  the  fyghte. 
More  feerce  than  fallynge  rocks,  more  swefte 
than  wynd  ; 


218 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


With  solemne  step,  by  ecchoe  made  more  dyre. 
One  single  boddie  all  theie  march’d,  theyr  ^yen  on 
fyre. 


XXII. 

And  now  the  greie-ey’d  morne  with  vi’lets  drest, 
Shakyng  the  dewdrops  on  the  flourie  meedes. 
Fled  with  her  rosie  radiance  to  the  west : 

Forth  from  the  easterne  gatte  the  fyerie  steedes 
Of  the  bright  sunne  awaytynge  spirits  leedes : 
The  sunne,  in  fierie  pompe  enthron’d  on  hie, 
Swyfter  than  thoughte  alonge  hys  jernie  gledes, 
And  scatters  nyghtes  remaynes  from  oute  the 
skie : 

He  sawe  the  armies  make  for  bloudie  fraie. 
And  stopt  his  driving  steedes,  and  hid  his  lyght- 
some  raye. 

XXIII. 

Kynge  Harolde  hie  in  ayre  majestic  rays’d 
His  mightie  arme,  deckt  with  a manchyn  rare  ; 
With  even  hande  a mighty  javlyn  paizde. 

Then  furyouse  sent  it  whystlynge  thro’  thf 
ayre. 

It  struck  the  helmet  of  the  Sieur  de  Beer ; 

In  vayne  did  brasse  or  yron  stop  its  waie ; 
Above  his  eyne  it  came,  the  bones  dyd  tare, 
Peercynge  quite  thro’,  before  it  dyd  allaie  ; 

He  tumbled,  scritchyng  wyth  hys  horrid  payne  ^ 
His  hollow  cuishes  rang  upon  the  bloudie  pleyne. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


219 


XXIV. 

This  Willjam  saw,  and  soundynge  Rowlandes 
songe 

He  bent  his  yron  interwoven  bowe, 

Makynge  bothe  endes  to  meet  with  myghte  full 
stronge, 

From  out  of  mortals  syght  shot  up  the  floe ; 

Then  swyfte  as  fallynge  starres  to  earthe  be- 
lowe 

It  slaunted  down  on  Alfwoldes  payncted 
sheelde  ; 

Quite  thro’  the  silver-bordur’d  crosse  did  goe, 

Nor  loste  its  force,  but  stuck  into  the  feelde ; 

The  Normannes,  like  theyr  sovrin,  dyd  pre- 
pare, 

A.nd  shotte  ten  thousande  floes  uprysynge  in  the 
aire. 


XXV. 

As  when  a flyghte  of  cranes,  that  takes  their 
waie 

In  householde  armies  thro’  the  flanched  skie, 
Alike  the  cause,  or  companie  or  prey. 

If  that  perchaunce  some  boggie  fenne  is  nie, 
Soon  as  the  muddie  natyon  theie  espie, 

Inne  one  blacke  cloude  theie  to  the  erth  de- 
scende ; 

F eirce  as  the  fallynge  thunderbolte  they  flie ; 

In  vayne  do  reedes  the  speckled  folk  defend ; 


220 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


So  prone  to  lieavie  blowe  the  arrowes  felle, 
And  peered  thro’  brasse,  and  sente  manie  to 
heaven  or  helle. 


XX  Y I. 

^lan  Adelfred,  of  the  stowe  of  Leigh, 

Felte  a dire  arrowe  burnynge  in  his  breste  ; 

Before  he  dyd,  he  sente  hys  spear  awaie, 

Thenne  sunke  to  glorie  and  eternal  reste. 

Nevylle,  a Normanne  of  alle  Normannes  beste, 

Throw  the  joint  cuishe  dyd  the  javlyn  feel, 

As  hee  on  horsebacke  for  the  fyghte  address’d, 

And  sawe  hys  blonde  come  smokynge  o’er  the 
Steele ; 

He  sente  the  avengynge  floe  into  the  ayre, 

And  turn’d  hys  horses  hedde,  and  did  to  leeche  re- 
payre. 

XXVII. 

And  now  the  javelyns  barb’d  with  death  his 
wynges, 

Hurl’d  from  the  Englysh  handes  by  force 
aderne, 

Wliyzz  dreare  alonge,  and  songes  of  terror 
synges, 

Such  songes  as  alwaies  clos’d  in  lyfe  eterne. 

Hurl’d  by  such  strength  along  the  ayre  theie 
burne, 

Not  to  be  quenched  butte  ynn  Normannes 
bloude ; 

Wherere  theie  came  they  were  of  lyfe  forlorn 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


221 


And  alwaies  followed  by  a purple  floude ; 

Like  cloudes  the  Normanne  arrowes  did  de- 
scend, 

Like  cloudes  of  carnage  full  in  purple  drops  dyd 
end. 

XXVIII. 

Nor,  Leofwynus,  dydst  thou  still  estande ; 

Full  soon  thie  pheon  glytted  in  the  aire ; 

The  force  of  none  but  thyne  and  Harold’s 
hande. 

Could  hurle  a javlyn  with  such  lethal  geer ; 
Itte  whyzz’d  a ghastlie  dynne  in  Normannes  ear, 
Then  thund’ryng  dyd  upon  hys  greave  alyghte, 
Peirce  to  his  hearte,  and  dyd  hys  bowels  tear. 
He  clos’d  hys  eyne  in  everlastynge  nyghte ; ^ 
Ah  ! what  avayld  the  lyons  on  his  creste  ! 

His  hatchments  rare  with  him  upon  the  grounde 
was  prest. 

XXIX. 

Willyam  agayne  ymade  his  bowe-ends  meet. 
And  hie  in  ayre  the  arrowe  wynged  his  waie, 
Descendyng  like  a shafte  of  thunder  fleete, 
Lyke  thunder  rattling  at  the  noon  of  daie, 
Onne  Algars  sheelde  the  arrowe  dyd  assaie. 
There  throghe  dyd  peerse,  and  stycke  into  his 
groine ; 

In  grypynge  torments  on  the  feelde  he  laie, 
Tille  welcome  dethe  came  in  and  clos’d  his 
eyne; 

' “ Clos’d  his  eyes  in  endless  night.”  — Gray’s  Bard. 


222 


ROWLEY  pop:ms. 


Distort  with  peyne  he  laie  upon  the  borne, 
Lyke  sturdie  elms  by  stormes  in  uncothe  wryth- 
ynges  tome. 


XXX.  * 

Alrick  his  brother,  when  hee  this  perceev’d, 

He  drewe  his  swerde,  his  lefte  hande  helde  a 
speere. 

Towards  the  duke  he  turn’d  his  prauncyng 
steede. 

And  to  the  Godde  of  heaven  he  sent  a prayre  ; 

Then  sent  his  lethale  javlyn  in  the  ayre, 

On  Hue  de  Beaumontes  backe  the  javelyn 
came. 

Thro  his  redde  armour  to  hys  harte  it  tare. 

He  felle  and  thondred  on  the  place  of  fame ; 

Next  with  his  swerde  he  ’sayFd  the  Seiur  de 
Hoe, 

A.nd  braste  his  sylver  helme,  so  furyous  was  the 
blowe. 


XXXI. 

But  Willyam,  who  had  seen  hys  prowesse 
great. 

And  feered  muche  how  farre  his  bronde  might 
goe, 

Tooke  a stronge  arblaster,  and  bigge  with  fate 
From  twangynge  iron  sente  the  fleetynge  floe. 
As  Alric  hoistes  hys  arme  for  dedlie  blowe. 
Which,  ban  it  came,  had  been  Du  Roees  laste, 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


223 


The  swyfte-wyng’d  messenger  from  Willyama 
bowe 

Quite  throwe  his  arme  into  his  syde  ypaste ; 
His  eyne  shotte  fyre,  lyke  blazyng  starre  at 
nyghte, 

He  gryp’d  his  swerde,  and  felle  upon  the  place  of 
fyghte. 


XXXII. 

O Alfwolde,  saie,  how  shalle  I synge  of  thee, 
Or  telle  how  manie  dyd  benethe  thee  falle ; 
Not  Haroldes  self  more  Normanne  knyghtes 
did  slee, 

Not  Haroldes  self  did  for  more  praises  call ; 
How  shall  a penne  like  myne  then  shew  it  all  ? 
Lyke  thee,  their  leader,  eche  Bristowyanne 
foughte ; 

Lyke  thee,  their  blaze  must  be  canonical, 

Fore  theie,  like  thee,  that  daie  bewrecke 
yroughte: 

Hid  thirtie  Normannes  fall  upon  the  grounde. 
Full  half  a score  from  thee  and  theie  receive 
their  fatale  wounde. 

XXXIII. 

First  Fytz  Chivelloys  felt  thie  direful  force  ; 
Nete  did  hys  helde  out  brazen  sheelde  availe ; 
Eftsoones  throwe  that  thie  irivynge  speare  did 
peerce, 

Nor  was  ytte  stopped  by  his  coate  of  mayle  ; 


24 


KOAYLEY  POEMS. 


Into  hi  a breaste  it  quicklie  did  assay  le ; 

Out  ran  the  blonde,  like  hygra  of  the  tyde ; 
With  purple  stayned  all  hys  adventayle  ; 

In  scarlet  was  his  cuishe  of  sylver  dyde  : 
Upon  the  bloudie  carnage  house  he  laie, 
Whylst  hys  longe  sheelde  dyd  gleem  with  the 
sun’s  rysing  ray. 


XXXIV. 

Next  Fescampe  felle  ; 0 Chrieste,  howe  harde 
his  fate 

To  die  the  leckedst  knyghte  of  all  the  thronge  ; 

His  sprite  was  made  of  malice  deslavate, 

Ne  shoulden  find  a place  in  anie  songe. 

The  broch’d  keene  javlyn  hurld  from  honde  so 
stronge 

As  thine  came  thundrynge  on  his  crysted 
heave ; 

Ah  ! neete  avayld  the  brass  or  iron  thonge, 

With  mightie  force  his  skulle  in  twoe  dyd 
cleave ; 

Fallyng  he  shooken  out  his  smokyng  braine, 

As  wither’d  oakes  or  elmes  are  hewne  from  off 
the  playne. 


XXXV. 

Nor,  Norcie,  could  thie  myghte  and  skilfulle 
lore 

Preserve  thee  from  the  doom  of  Alfwold’s 
speere ; 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


225 


Couldste  thou  not  keiine,  most  skyll’d  After  la 
goure,^ 

How  in  the  battle  it  would  wythe  thee  fare  ? 
When  Alfwold's  javelyn,  rattlynge  in  the  ayre, 
Fi’om  hande  dyvine  on  thie  habergeon  came, 
Oute  at  thy  backe  it  dyd  thie  hartes  bloud(i 
bear, 

It  gave  thee  death  and  everlastynge  fame ; 

Thy  deathe  could  onlie  come  from  Alfwolde 
arme, 

As  diamondes  onlie  can  its  fellow  diamonds  harme. 

XXXVI. 

Next  Sire  du  Mouline  fell  upon  the  grounde, 
Quite  throughe  his  throte  the  lethal  javlyn 
preste. 

His  soule  and  bloude  came  roushynge  from  the 
wounde  ; 

He  clos’d  his  eyen,  and  op’d  them  with  the  blest. 
It  can  ne  be  I should  behight  the  rest, 

That  by  the  myghtie  arme  of  Alfwolde  felle, 
Paste  hie  a penne  to  be  counte  or  expreste. 
How  manie  Alfwolde  sent  to  heaven  or  belle ; 
As  leaves  from  trees  shook  by  derne  Autumns 
hand, 

bo  laie  the  Normannes  slain  by  Alfwold  on  the 
strand." 

1 There  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  singular  word  is  used  by 
S'c  me  inadvertency  for  ‘ asterlagour,’  or  ‘ astrologer.’ 

2 The  minute  enumeration  of  the  Norman  names  in  the 

15 


VOL.  II. 


226 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


XXXVII. 

As  wlien  a drove  of  wolves  withe  dreary  yelles 

Assayle  some  flocke,  ne  care  if  shepster  ken’t, 

Besprenge  destructione  oer  the  woodes  and 
delles ; 

The  shepster  swaynes  in  vayne  theyr  lees 
lement ; 

So  foughte  the  Brystowe  menne ; ne  one  ere- 
vent, 

Ne  onne  abashed  enthoughten  for  to  flee  ; 

With  fallen  Normans  all  the  playne  besprent, 

And  like  theyr  leaders  every  man  did  slee ; 

In  vayne  on  every  syde  the  arrowes  fled ; 

The  Brystowe  menne  styll  rag’d,  for  Alfwold  was 
not  dead. 


XXXVIII. 

Manie  meanwhile  by  Haroldes  arm  did  falle. 
And  Leofwyne  and  Gyrthe  en  creas’d  the 
slayne ; 

’T  would  take  a Nestor’s  age  to  synge  them  all, 
Or  telle  how  manie  Normannes  preste  the 
playne  ; 

But  of  the  erles,  whom  record  nete  hath  slayne, 
O Truthe ! for  good  of  after-tymes  relate 


‘ Battle  of  Hastings,”  may  be  explained  by  supposing  Chat- 
fcerton  to  have  copied  them  from  “ Fuller’s  Church  History,” 
while  the  Saxon  names,  not  being  so  easily  attainable,  are  but 
sparingly  interspersed.  — Tyrwhitt. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


227 


That,  tliowe  they’re  deade,  theyr  names  may 
lyve  agayne, 

And  be  in  deathe,  as  they  in  life  were,  greate ; 
So  after-ages  male  theyr  actions  see. 

And  like  to  them  seternal  alwaie  stryve  to  be. 

XXXIX. 

Adhelm,  a knyghte,  whose  holie  deathless  sire 
For  ever  bended  to  St.  Cuthbert’s  shryne. 
Whose  breast  for  ever  burn’d  with  sacred  fyre, 
And  ee’n  on  erthe  he  myghte  be  call’d  dyvine  ; 
To  Cuthbert’s  church  he  dyd  his  goodes  re- 
sygne. 

And  lefte  hys  son  his  God’s  and  fortunes 
knyghte  ; 

His  son  the  Saincte,  behelde  with  looke  adigne, 
Made  him  in  gemot  wyse,  and  greate  in  fyghte ; 
Saincte  Cuthberte  dyd  him  ayde  in  all  hys 
deedes, 

His  friends  he  lets  to  live,  and  all  his  foemen 
bleedes. 


XL. 

He  married  was  to  Kenewalchae  faire, 

The  fynest  dame  the  sun  or  moone  adave ; 
She  was  the  myghtie  Aderedus’  heyre, 

Who  was  alreadie  hastynge  to  the  grave ; 
As  the  blue  Bruton,  rysinge  from  the  wave, 
Like  sea-gods  seeme  in  most  majestic  guise. 
And  rounde  aboute  the  risynge  waters  lave, 


228 


KOWLEY  rOEMS. 


And  their  longe  hayre  arounde  their  bodie  dies, 
Such  majestie  was  in  her  porte  displaid, 

To  be  exceird  bie  none  but  Homer’s  martial  maid. 

XLI. 

White  as  the  chaulkie  clyffes  of  Brittaines  isle, 
Red  as  the  highest  colour’d  Gallic  wine, 

Gaie  as  all  nature  at  the  momynge  smile, 
Those  hues  with  pleasaunce  on  her  lippes  com- 
bine— 

Her  lippes  more  redde  than  summer  evenynge 
skyne, 

Or  Phoebus  rysinge  in  a frostie  morne, 

Her  breste  more  white  than  snow  in  Teeldes 
that  lyene. 

Or  lillie  lambes  that  never  have  been  shorne, 
Swellynge  like  bubbles  in  a boillynge  welle, 

Or  new-braste  brooklettes  gently  whyspringe  in 
the  delle. 


XLII. 

Browne  as  the  fylberte  droppyng  from  the 
shelle, 

Browne  as  the  nappy  ale  at  Hocktyde  game. 

So  browne  the  crokyde  rynges,  that  featlie  fell 
Over  the  neck  of  the  all-beauteous  dame. 

Greie  as  the  morne  before  the  ruddie  flame 
Of  Phoebus’  charyotte  rollynge  thro  the  skie ; 
Greie  as  the  steel-hom’d  goats  Cony  an  made 
tame, 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


229 


So  greie  appear’d  her  featly  spark lyng  eye  ; 
Those  eyne,  that  dyd  oft  mickle  pleased  look 
^ On  Adhelm  valyaunt  man,  the  virtues  doomsday 
book. 

XLIII. 

Majestic  as  the  grove  of  okes  that  stoode 
Before  the  abbie  buylt  by  Oswald  kynge 
Majestic  as  Hybemies  holie  woode, 

Where  sainctes  and  soules  departed  masses 
synge;^ 

Such  awe  from  her  sweete  looke  forth  issuynge 
At  once  for  reveraunce  and  love  did  calle ; 
Sweet  as  the  voice  of  thraslarks  in  the  Spring, 
So  sweet  the  wordes  that  from  her  lippes  did 
falle ; 

None  fell  in  vayne  ; all  shewed  some  entent ; 
Her  wordies  did  displaie  her  great  entendement. 

XLIV. 

Tapre  as  candles  layde  at  Cuthberts  shryne, 
Tapre  as  elmes  that  Goodrickes  abbie  shrove, 
Tapre  as  silver  chalices  for  wine, 

So  tapre  was  her  armes  and  shape  ygrove. 

As  skyllful  mynemenne  by  the  stones  above 
Can  ken  what  metalle  is  ylach’d  belowe, 

So  Kennewalcha’s  face,  ymade  for  love, 

^ This  appears  to  be  a mistake.  It  should  be  — 

“ Where  paints  for  souls  departed  masses  sing.” 


230 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


The  lovelie  ymage  of  her  soule  did  shewe  ; 
Thus  was  she  outward  form’d ; the  sun  hei 
mind 

Did  guilde  her  mortal  shape  and  all  her  charms 
refin’d. 


XLV. 

What  blazours  then,  what  glorie  shall  he  clayme, 

What  doughtie  Homere  shall  hys  praises  synge, 

That  lefte  the  bosome  of  so  fayre  a dame 

Uncall’d,  unaskt,  to  serve  his  lorde  the  kynge  ? 

To  his  fayre  shrine  goode  subjects  oughte  to 
bringe 

The  armes,  the  helmets,  all  the  spoyles  of 
warre, 

Throwe  everie  reaulm  the  poets  blaze  the 
thynge. 

And  travelling  merchants  spredde  hys  name  to 
farre ; 

The  stoute  Norwegians  had  his  anlace  felte, 
And  nowe  amonge  his  foes  dethe-doynge  blowes 
he  delte. 


XLVI. 

As  when  a wolfyn  gettynge  in  the  meedes 
He  rageth  sore,  and  doth  about  hym  slee, 
Nowe  here  a talbot,  there  a lambkin  bleeds, 
And  alle  the  grasse  with  clotted  gore  doth 
stree ; 

As  when  a rivlette  roUes  impetuouslie, 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


231 


And  breaks  the  bankes  that  would  its  force  re- 
strajne, 

Alonge  the  playne  in  fomynge  rynges  doth 
flee, 

Gaynste  walles  and  hedges  doth  its  course 
tnaintayne ; 

As  when  a manne  doth  in  a com-fielde  mowe, 
With  ease  at  one  felle  stroke  full  manie  is  laid 
lowe. 


XL  VII. 

So  manie,  with  such  force,  and  with  such  ease. 
Did  Adhelm  slaughtre  on  the  bloudie  playne ; 
Before  hym  manie  dyd  tlieyr  hearts  bloude 
lease, 

Ofttymes  he  foughte  on  towres  of  smokynge 
slayne. 

Angilhan  felte  his  force,  nor  felte  in  vayne  ; 

He  cutte  hym  with  his  swerde  athur  the  breaste  ; 
Out  ran  the  bloude,  and  did  hys  armoure  stayni', 
He  clos’d  his  eyen  in  aeternal  reste ; 

Lyke  a tall  oke  by  tempeste  borne  awaie, 
Stretch’d  in  the  arms  of  dethe  upon  the  plaine  he 
laie. 


XLVIII. 

Next  thro’  the  ayre  he  sent  his  javlyn  feerce, 
That  on  De  Clearmoundes  buckler  did  alyghte, 
Throwe  the  vaste  orbe  the  sharpe  pheone  did 
peerce, 


232 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Rang  on  his  coate  of  mayle  and  spent  its  mighte. 
But  soon  another  wing’d  its  aierj  flyghte, 

The  keen  broad  pheon  to  his  lungs  did  goe ; 

He  felle,  and  groan’d  upon  the  place  of  fighte, 
Whilst  lyfe  and  bloude  came  issuynge  from  the 
blowe. 

Like  a tall  pyne  upon  his  native  playne, 

So  fell  the  mightie  sire  and  mingled  with  the 
slaine. 

XLIX. 

Hue  de  Longeville,  a force  doughtre  mere, 
Advauncyd  forwarde  to  provoke  the  darte, 
When  soone  he  founde  that  Adhelmes  poynted 
speere 

Had  founde  an  easie  passage  to  his  hearte. 

He  drewe  his  bowe,  nor  was  of  dethe  astarte, 
Then  fell  down  brethlesse  to  encrease  the 
corse ; 

But  as  he  drewe  hys  bowe  devoid  of  arte, 

So  it  came  down  upon  Troyvillain’s  horse  ; 
Deep  thro’  hys  hatchments  wente  the  pointed 
floe  ; 

Now  here,  now  there,  with  rage  bleedyng  he 
rounde  doth  goe. 


L. 

Nor  does  he  hede  his  mastres  known  com* 
mands, 

Tyll,  growen  furiouse  by  his  bloudie  wounde, 
Erect  upon  his  hynder  feete  he  staundes, 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


233 


And  throwes  hys  mastre  far  off  to  the  groimde. 
Near  Adhelms  feete  the  Normanne  laie  astounde, 
Besprengd  his  arrowes,  loosend  was  his  sheelde, 
Thro’  his  redde  armoure,  as  he  laie  ensoond, 
He  ])eerc’d  his  swerde,  and  out  upon  the  feelde 
The  Normannes  bowels  steem’d,  a deadlie 
syghte  ! 

He  op’d  and  clos’d  hys  eyen  in  everlastynge 
nyghte. 

LI. 

Caverd,  a Scot,  who  for  the  Normannes  foughte, 
A man  well  skill’d  in  swerde  and  soundynge 
strynge, 

Who  fled  his  country  for  a crime  enstrote, 

For  darynge  with  bolde  worde  hys  loiaule 
kynge, 

He  at  Erie  Aldhelme  with  grete  force  did 
flynge 

An  heavie  javlyn,  made  for  bloudie  wounde, 
Alonge  his  sheelde  askaunte  the  same  did 
ringe, 

Peerc’d  thro’  the  corner,  then  stuck  in  the 
grounde  ; 

So  when  the  thonder  rauttles  in  the  skie, 

Thro’  some  tall  spyre  the  shaftes  in  a torn  clevis 
flie. 

LII. 

Then  Addhelm  hurl’d  a croched  javlyn  stronge, 
With  mighte  that  none  but  such  grete  cham- 
piones  know  ; 


234 


KOVVLEY  POEMS. 


Swifter  than  thouglite  the  javlyn  past  alonge, 
Ande  hytte  the  Scot  most  feirclie  on  the 
prowe ; 

His  helmet  brasted  at  the  thondring  blowe, 

Into  his  brain  the  tremblyn  javlyn  steck  ; 

From  eyther  syde  the  blonde  began  to  flow, 
And  run  in  circling  ringlets  rounde  his 
neck ; 

Down  fell  the  warriour  on  the  letlial  strande, 
Lyke  some  tall  vessel  wreckt  upon  the  tragick 
sande. 


( Continued.Y 

LIII. 

Where  fruytless  heathes  and  meadowes  cladde 
in  greie, 

Save  where  deme  hawthornes  reare  theyr 
humble  heade, 

The  hungrie  traveller  upon  his  waie 

Sees  a huge  desarte  alle  arounde  hym  spredde, 

The  distaunte  citie  scantlie  to  be  spedde, 

The  curlynge  force  of  smoke  he  sees  in  vayne, 
’Tis  too  far  distaunte,  and  his  onlie  bedde 
Iwimpled  in  hys  cloke  ys  on  the  playne, 
Whylste  rattlynge  thonder  forrey  oer  his  hedde, 
And  raines  come  down  to  wette  hys  hai’de  un- 
couthlie  bedde. 


^ See  note  at  page  180  respecting  this  continuation. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


235 


LIV. 

A wondrous  pyle  of  rugged  mountaynes  standes, 

Plac’d  on  eche  other  in  a dreare  arraie, 

It  nc  could  be  the  worke  of  human  handes, 

It  ne  was  reared  up  hie  menne  of  claie. 

Here  did  the  Brutons  adoration  paye 

To  the  false  god  whom  they  did  Tauran 
name, 

Dightynge  hys  altarre  with  greete  fyres  in 
Maie, 

Roastynge  theyr  vyctualle  round  aboute  the 
flame, 

’Twas  here  that  Hengyst  did  the  Brytons 
slee. 

As  they  were  mette  in  council  for  to  bee. 


LV. 

Neere  on  a loftie  hylle  a citie  standes. 

That  lyftes  yts  scheafted  heade  ynto  the  skies, 
And  kynglie  lookes  arounde  on  lower  landes, 
And  the  longe  browne  playne  that  before  itte 
lies. 

Herewarde,  borne  of  parentes  brave  and  wyse, 
Within  thys  vylle  fyrste  adrewe  the  ayre, 

A blessynge  to  the  erthe  sente  from  the  skies. 
In  anie  kyngdom  nee  coulde  fynde  his  pheer ; 
Now  rybbd  in  steele  he  rages  yn  the  fyghte, 
And  sweeps  whole  armies  to  the  reaulmes  of 
nyghte. 


236 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


LVI. 

So  when  derne  Autumne  wyth  hys  sallowe 
hande 

Tares  the  green  mantle  from  the  lymed  trees, 
The  leaves  besprenged  on  the  yellow  strande 
Fhe  in  whole  armies  from  the  blataunte  breeze ; 
AUe  the  whole  fielde  a carnage-howse  he  sees, 
And  sowles  unknelled  hover’d  o’er  the  bloude  ; 
From  place  to  place  on  either  hand  he  slees, 
And  sweepes  alle  neere  hym  lyke  a bronded 
floude ; 

Dethe  honge  upon  his  arme ; he  sleed  so 
maynt, 

‘Tis  paste  the  pointel  of  a man  to  paynte. 

LVII. 

Bryghte  sonne  in  haste  ban  drove  hys  fierio 
wayne 

A three  howres  course  alonge  the  whited 
skyen, 

Vewynge  the  swarthless  bodies  on  the  playne, 
And  longed  greetlie  to  plonce  in  the  bryne. 

For  as  hys  beemes  and  far-stretchynge  eyne 
Did  view  the  pooles  of  gore  yn  purple  sheen e, 
The  wolsomme  vapours  rounde  hys  lockes  dyd 
. twyne, 

And  dyd  disfygure  all  hys  semmlikeen  ; 

Then  to  harde  actyon  he  hys  wayne  dyd  rowse 
In  hyssynge  ocean  to  make  glair  hys  browes. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


237 


Lvm. 

Duke  Wjllyam  gave  commaunde,  eche  Norman 
knyghte, 

That  beer  war-token  in  a‘*shielde  so  fyne, 
Shoulde  onward  goe,  and  dare  to  closer  fyghte 
The  Saxonne  warryor,  that  dyd  so  entwine, 
Lyke  the  neshe  bryon  and  the  eglantine, 

Orre  Cornysh  wrastlers  at  a Hocktyde  game. 
The  Normannes,  all  emarchialld  in  a lyne, 

To  the  ourt  arraie  of  the  thight  Saxonnes  came  ; 
There  ’twas  the  whaped  Normannes  on  a parre 
Dyd  know  that  Saxonnes  were  the  sonnes  of 
warre. 

LIX. 

Oh  Turgotte,  wheresoeer  thie  spryte  dothe 
haunte, 

Whither  wyth  thie  lovd  Adhelme  by  thie  syde. 
Where  thou  mayste  heare  the  swotie  nyghte 
larke  chaunte, 

Orre  wyth  some  mokynge  brooklette  swetelie 
glide, 

Or  rowle  in  ferselie  wythe  ferse  Severnes  tyde, 
Whereer  thou  art,  come  and  mymynde  enleme 
Wyth  such  greete  thoughtes  as  dyd  with  thee 
abyde, 

Thou  sonne,  of  whom  I ofte  have  caught  a 
beeme, 

Send  mee  agayne  a drybblette  of  thie  lyghte. 
That  I the  deeds  cf  Englyshmenne  maie  wryte. 


238 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


LX. 

Harolde,  who  saw  the  Normannes  to  advaunce, 

Seiz’d  a huge  byll,  and  layd  hym  down  hys 
spere ; ^ 

Soe  dyd  ech  wite  laie  downe  the  broched 
launce, 

And  groves  of  bylies  did  glitter  in  the  ayre. 

Wyth  showtes  the  Normannes  did  to  battel 
steere ; 

Campynon  famous  for  his  stature  highe, 

Fyrey  wythe  brasse,  benethe  a shyrte  of  lere, 

In  cloudie  daie  he  reech’d  into  the  skie ; 

Neere  to  Kyng  Harolde  dyd  he  come  alonge, 
And  drewe  hys  steele  Morglaien  sworde  so 
stronge. 


LXI. 

Thryce  rounde  hys  heade  hee  swung  hys  anlace 
wyde, 

On  whyche  the  sunne  his  visage  did  agleeme, 

Then  straynynge  as  hys  membres  would  dyvyde, 

Hee  stroke  on  Haroldes  sheelde  yn  manner 
breme ; 

Alonge  the  fielde  it  made  an  horrid  cleembe, 

Coupeynge  Kyng  Harolds  payncted  sheeld  in 
twayne, 

Then  yn  the  bloude  the  fierie  swerde  dyd 
steeme, 

And  then  dyd  drive  ynto  the  bloudie  playne ; 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


239 


So  wheu  in  ayre  the  vapours  do  abounde, 

Some  thunderbolte  tares  trees  and  dryves  ynto 
the  grounde. 


LXII.^ 

Harolde  upreer’d  hys  bylle,  and  furious  sente 

A stroke,  lyke  thondre,  at  the  Normannes 
syde; 

Upon  the  playne  the  broken  brasse  besprente 

Dyd  ne  hys  bodie  from  dethe-doeynge  hyde ; 

He  tournyd  backe,  and  dyd  not  there  abyde  ; 

With  straught  oute  sheelde  hee  ayenwarde  did 
goe, 

Threwe  downe  the  Normannes,  did  their  rankes 
divide. 

To  save  himselfe  lefte  them  unto  the  foe ; 

So  olyphauntes,  in  kingdomme  of  the  sunne, 
W'hen  once  provok’d  doth  thro  we  theyr  owne 
troopes  runne. 


LXIII. 

Harolde,  who  ken’d  hee  was  his  armies  staie, 
Nedeynge  the  rede  of  generaul  so  wyse, 

Byd  Alfwoulde  to  Campynon  haste  awaie. 

As  thro  the  armie  ayenwarde  he  hies, 

Swyfte  as  a feether’d  takel  Alfwoulde  flies. 

The  Steele  bylle  blushynge  oer  wyth  lukewarm 
bloude  ; 

Ten  Kenters,  ten  Bristowans  for  th’  emprize 
Hasted  wyth  Alfwoulde  where  Campynon  stood. 


240 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Who  aynewarde  went,  whylste  everie  Normanne 
knyghte 

Dyd  blush  to  see  their  champyon  put  to  flyghte. 
^LXIV. 

As  painctyd  Bruton,  when  a wolfyn  wylde. 
When  yt  is  cale  and  blustrynge  wyndes  do 
blowe. 

Enters  hys  bordelle,  taketh  hys  yonge  chylde. 
And  wyth  his  bloude  bestreynts  the  lillie  snowe. 
He  thoroughe  mountayne  hie  and  dale  doth  goe, 
Throwe  the  quyck  torrent  of  the  bollen  ave, 
Throwe  Severne  rollynge  oer  the  sandes  belowe 
He  skyms  alofe,  and  blents  the  beatynge  wave, 
Ne  stynts,  ne  lagges  the  chace,  tylle  for  hys 
eyne 

In  peecies  hee  the  morthering  theef  doth  chyne. 
LXV. 

So  Alfwoulde  he  dyd  to  Campynon  haste  ; 

Hys  bloudie  bylle  awhap’d  the  Normannes 
eyrie ; 

Hee  fled,  as  wolfes  when  bie  the  talbots  chac’d. 
To  bloudie  byker  he  dyd  ne  enclyne. 

Duke  Wyllyam  stroke  hym  on  hys  brigandyne, 
And  sayd ; Campynon,  is  it  thee  I see  ? 

Thee  ? who  dydst  actes  of  glorie  so  bewryen. 
Now  poorlie  come  to  hyde  thieselfe  bie  mee 
Awaie ! thou  dogge,  and  acte  a warrior’s  partq 
Or  with  mie  swerde  I’ll  perce  thee  to  the  harte. 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


211 


LXVI. 

Betweene  Erie  Alfwoulde  and  Duke  Wyllyam’s 
bronde 

Campjnon  thougbte  that  nete  but  deathe 
coulde  bee, 

Seezed  a huge  swerde  Morglaien  yn  his  honde, 

Mottrynge  a praier  to  the  Yyrgyne : 

So  hunted  deere  the  dryvynge  houndes  will 
slee, 

When  theie  dyscover  they  cannot  escape ; 

And  feerful  lambkyns,  when  theie  hunted  bee, 

Theyre  ynfante  hunters  doe  theie  ofte  awhape ; 

Thus  stoode  Campynon,  greete  but  hertlesse 
knyghte. 

When  feere  of  dethe  made  hym  for  deathe  to 
fyghte. 


LXVII. 

Alfwoulde  began  to  dyghte  hymselfe  for  fyghte, 
Meanewhyle  hys  menne  on  everie  syde  dyd  slee, 
Whan  on  hys  lyfted  sheelde  withe  alle  hys 
myghte 

Campynon’s  swerde  in  burlie-brande  dyd  dree  ; 
Bewopen  Alfwoulde  fellen  on  his  knee  ; 

Hys  Brystowe  menne  came  in  hym  for  to  save ; 
Eftsoons  upgotten  from  the  grounde  was  hee. 
And  dyd  agayne  the  touring  Norman  brave  ; 
Hee  grasp’d  hys  bylle  in  syke  a drear  arraie, 
Hee  seem’d  a lyon  catchynge  at  hys  preie. 

VOL.  II.  16 


242 


KOWLEY  POEMS. 


LXVIII. 

Upon  the  Normannes  brazen  adventayle 
The  thondrjnge  bill  of  myghtie  Alfwould  came  ; 
It  made  a dentful  bruse,  and  then  dyd  fayle ; 
Fromme  rattlynge  weepons  shotte  a sparklynge 
flame ; 

Eftsoons  agayne  the  thondrynge  bill  ycame, 
Peers’d  thro  hys  adventayle  and  skyrts  of 
lare ; 

A tyde  of  purple  gore  came  wyth  the  same, 

As  out  hys  bowells  on  the  feelde  it  tare  ; 
Campynon  felle,  as  when  some  cittie-walle 
lime  dolefulle  terrours  on  its  mynours  falle. 

LXIX. 

He  felle,  and  dyd  the  Norman  rankes  dy vide ; 
So  when  an  oke,  that  shotte  ynto  the  skie,^ 
Feeles  the  broad  axes  peersynge  his  broade 
syde, 

Slowlie  hee  falls  and  on  the  grounde  doth  lie, 
Pressynge  all  downe  that  is  wyth  hym  anighe, 
And  stoppynge  wearie  travellers  on  the  waie  ; 
So  straught  upon  the  playne  the  Norman  hie 
« « ^ ^ # 

I “ As  when  the  mountain  oak,  or  poplar  tall, 

Or  pine,  fit  mast  for  some  great  admiral. 

Groans  to  the  oft-heaved  axe  with  many  a wound, 
Then  spreads  a length  of  ruin  on  the  ground.” 

Pope’s  Homeu 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


243 


JBled,  gron’d,  and  dyed  : the  Normanne  knyghtes 
astound 

To  see  the  bawsin  chain py on  preste  upon  the 
grounde. 

LXX. 

As  when  the  hygra^  of  the  Severne  roars, 

And  thunders  ugsom  on  the  sandes  below, 

The  cleembe  reboundes  to  Wedecester’s  shore, 
And  sweeps  the  black  sande  rounde  its  horie 
pro  we ; 

So  bremie  Alfwoulde  thro’  the  warre  dyd 
goe; 

Hys  Renters  and  Brystowans  slew  ech  syde, 
Betreinted  all  alonge  with  bloudless  foe. 

And  seem’d  to  swymm  alonge  with  bloudie  tyde ; 
Fromme  place  to  place  besmear’d  with  bloud 
they  went. 

And  rounde  aboute  them  swarthless  corse  be- 
sprente. 


LXXI. 

A famous  Normanne  who  yclepd  Aubene, 

Of  skyll  in  bow,  in  tylte,  and  handesworde 
fyghte, 

That  daie  yn  feelde  han  manie  Saxons  sleene, 
Forre  hee  in  sothen  was  a manne  of  myghte ; 
Fyrste  dyd  his  swerde  on  Adelgar  alyghte. 

As  hee  on  horseback  was,  and  peers’d  hyg 
gryne. 


^ See  note  to  page  75. 


214 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Then  upwarde  wente : in  everlastynge  nyghte 
Hee  closd  hys  rollyng  and  dymsyghted  eyne. 
Next  Eadlyn,  Tatwyn,  and  fam’d  Adelred, 

Bie  various  causes  sunken  to  the  dead. 

LXXII. 

But  now  to  Alfwoulde  he  opposynge  went, 

To  whom  compar’d  hee  was  a man  of  stre, 

And  wyth  bothe  hondes  a myghtie  blowe  he 
sente 

At  Alfwoulde’s  head,  as  hard  as  hee  could  dree ; 
But  on  hys  payncted  sheelde  so  bismarlie 
Aslaunte  his  swerde  did  go  ynto  the  grounde  ; 
Then  Alfwould  him  attack’d  most  furyouslie, 
Athrowe  hys  gaberdyne  hee  dyd  him  wounde, 
Then  soone  agayne  hys  swerde  hee  dyd  upryne, 
And  clove  his  creste  and  split  hym  to  the  eyne. 

• « « « * « 

Mr.  Bryant  is  of  opinion,  that  the  “ Battle  of  Hastings  ” 
contains  a mass  of  occult  intelligence^  in  many  obscure  refer- 
ences^ and  dark  hints.  This  is  a mass  which  I cannot  penetrate. 
The  poem,  as  we  have  seen,  is  supposed  to  have  been  originally 
written  by  Turgott,  a coeval  ecclesiastic.  But  a vTiter  so 
connected  with  the  times,  a professed  historian,  and  who  was 
here  the  author  of  a separate  and  distinct  narrative  of  this 
single  event,  must  have  treated  the  subject  with  minuteness 
and  particularity.  He  was  drawing  from  the  life,  and  record- 
ing recent  facts.  This  newly  discovered  manuscript  of  Tur- 
gott must  have  mentioned  anecdotes  not  now  to  be  found  in 
our  histories,  or  have  related  those  already  recorded,  with 
a<lditional  circumstances,  with  a less  degi'ee  of  generality, 
8uid  a variety  of  new  particulars.  But  unluckily,  we  see 


BATTLE  OF  HASTINGS. 


245 


httle  more  than  the  well-known,  established,  leading  inci- 
dents. Some  few  poetical  or  imaginary  insertions  excepted, 
this  memorable  Battle  is  much  the  same  in  Hollinshed  as  in 
Turgott.  I am  speaking  of  real  facts,  such  as  properly  be- 
long to  this  event  as  a piece  of  history,  and  such  as  Turgott 
would  have  naturally  told.  As  to  those  occult  intelligences^ 
instanced  by  Mr.  Bryant,  Tynyan's  necromancy^  the  goats  of 
Conyan  made  tame^  and  the  souls  of  the  fairy-stricken  people 
that  wander  to  Offa's  dyke^  they  are  extraneous,  and  the  sport 
of  the  poet.  Tynyan  is  an  old  British  king  in  Geoffrey  of 
Monmouth.  So  little  is  known  of  this  monarch,  that  he  was 
safely  and  easily  converted  into  a necromancer.  The  goats 
of  Conyan  might  be  an  allusion,  to  amuse  and  deceive,  with- 
out any  meaning  at  the  bottom.  We  must  not  always  treat 
fancies  as  mysteries.  There  are  now  remembered  many  ro 
mantic  traditions,  such  as  that  of  the  souls  of  the  fairy-stricken 
veople.  But  this  might  have  sprung  from  Chatterton’s  imagi- 
nation, for  it  is  by  no  means  out  of  the  style  and  cast  of 
modern  fiction.  All  these  may  be  said  to  have  been  added 
to  Turgott  by  Rowley.  It  is  as  least  as  probable  that  they 
came  from  Chatterton.  They  certainly  did  not  fall  from  the 
pen  of  an  archdeacon,  a prior  of  an  episcopal  church,  and  a 
conscientious  annalist.  At  least  they  would  not  have  been 
introduced  by  Turgott  into  the  grave  dignity  of  an  historic 
detail. — Wartom. 


THE  ROMAUNTE  OF  THE  CNYGHTE.1 


BY  JOHN  DE  BERGHAM. 

The  Sunne  ento  Vyrgyne  was  gotten, 

The  floureys  al  arounde  onspryngede, 

The  woddie  Grasse  blaunched  the  Fenne, 

The  Quenis  Ermyne  arised  fro  Bedde ; 

Syr  Knyghte  dyd  ymounte  oponn  a Stede 
Ne  Rouncie  ne  Drybblette  of  make, 

Thanne  asterte  for  dur’sie  dede 
Wythe  Morglaie  hys  Fooemenne  to  make  blede 
Eke  swythyn  as  wynde.  Trees,  theyre  Hartys  to 
shake, 

1 Mr.  Burgum  (the  Bristol  pewterer)  is  one  of  the  first  per- 
sons who  expresses  an  opinion  of  the  authenticity  and  excel- 
lence of  Rowley’s  poems.  Chatterton,  pleased  with  this  first 
blossom  of  credulity,  and  from  which  he  presaged  an  abun- 
dant harvest,  with  an  elated  and  a grateful  heart,  presents 
him  with  the  ‘ Romaunte  of  the  Cnyghte,’  a poem  written  by 
‘ John  de  Bergham,’  one  of  his  oum  ancestors,  about  four 
hundred  and  fifty  years  before;  and,  the  more  effectually  to 
exclude  suspicion,  he  accompanies  it  with  the  same  poem 
modernized  by  himself. — Cottle.  See  the  ‘ Romance  of  tli« 
Knight’  in  Chatterton’s  acknowledged  Poems. 


THE  ROMAHNTE  OF  THE  CNYGHTE.  247 

Al  doune  in  a Delle,  a merke  dernie  Delle, 
Wheere  Coppys  eke  Thighe  Trees  there  bee, 
There  dyd  hee  perchaunce  Isee 
A Damoselle  askedde  for  ayde  on  her  kne, 

An  Cnyghte  uncourteous  dydde  hie  her  stonde 
Hee  hollyd  herr  faeste  bib  her  honde, 

Discorteous  Cnyghte,  I doe  praie  nowe  thou  telle 
Whirst  doeste  thou  bee  so  to  thee  Damselle  ? 

The  Knyghte  hym  assoled  ^ eftsoones, 

Itte  beethe  ne  mattere  of  thyne. 

Begon  for  I wayte  notte  thye  boones. 

The  Knyghte  sed  I proove  on  thie  Gaberdyne,* 
Alyche  Boars  enchafed  to  fyghte  heie  flies. 

The  Discoorteous  Knyghte  bee  strynge  botte 
strynger  the  righte, 

The  dynne  bee  herde  a’myle  for  fuire  in  the 
fyghte, 

Tyl  thee  false  Knyghte  yfallethe  and  dyes. 

Damoysel,  quod  the  Knyghte,  now  comme  thou 
wi  me, 

Y wotte  Welle  quod  shee  I nede  thee  ne  fere. 

The  Knyghte  yfallen  badd  wolde  Ischulde  bee, 
Butte  loe  he  ys  dedde  maie  itte  spede  Heaven- 
were. 

1 Answered.  Used  by  Rowley  in  the  same  sense. — Chat- 

TERTON. 

2 A manner  of  challenging.  So  in  Rowley’s  Tournament, 
Thanne  theeres  my  Gauntelette  on  thie  Gaberdyne” — 

Chattertok. 


ECLOGUES. 


ECLOGUE  THE  FIRST. 

Whanne  Englonde,  smeethynge  from  her 
lethal  wounde, 

From  her  galled  necke  dyd  twytte  the  chayne 
awaie, 

Kennynge  her  legeful  sonnes  falle  all  arounde, 

(Myghtie  theie  fell,  ’twas  Honoure  ledde  the 
fraie,) 

Thanne  inne  a dale,  hie  eve’s  dark  surcote 
graie, 

Twayne  lonelie  shepsterres  dyd  abrodden  die, 

(The  rostlyng  liff  doth  theyr  whytte  hartes 
affraie,) 

And  wythe  the  owlette  trembled  and  dyd  crie  ; 

Firste  Roberte  Neatherde  hys  sore  boesom 
stroke, 

TJien  fellen  on  the  grounde  and  thus  yspoke. 

ROBERTE. 

Ah,  Raufe!  gif  thos  the  howres  do  comme 
alonge. 

Gif  thos  wee  die  in  chase  of  farther  woe, 


ECLOGUE  THE  FIRST. 


249 


Oure  fote  wylle  fayle,  all)eytte  wee  bee  stronge, 
Ne  wylle  oure  pace  swelte  as  oure  danger  goe. 
To  oure  grete  wroiiges  we  have  eiilieped  moe, 
The  Baroiines  warre ! oh ! woe  and  well-a-daie ! 
I haveth  lyff,  bott  have  escaped  soe 
That  lyff  ytsel  mie  senses  doe  affraie. 

Oh  Raufe,  cornme  lyste,  and  hear  mie  derme 
tale, 

Comme  heare  the  balefull  dome  of  Robynne  of 
the  dale. 


RAUFE. 

Saie  to  mee  nete  ; I kenne  tide  woe  in  myne ; 

O ! I’ve  a tale  that  Sabalns  mote  telle. 

Swote  flouretts,  mantled  meedows,  forestes 
dygne ; 

Gravots  far-kend  arounde  the  EiTmiets  cell ; 

The  swote  ribible  dynning  yn  the  dell ; 

The  joyous  daunceynge  ynn  the  hoastrie 
courte ; 

Eke  the  highe  songe  and  everych  joic  farewell, 

Farewell  the  verie  shade  of  fayre  dysporte  : 

Impestering  trobble  onn  mie  heade  doe  comme, 
Ne  one  kynde  Seyncte  to  warde  the  aye  en- 
creasynge  dome. 

ROBERTE. 

Oh!  I coulde  waile  mie  kynge-coppe-decked 
mees, 

Mie  spreedynge  flockes  of  shepe  of  lillie  white, 


250 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Mie  tendre  applynges  ; and  embodyde  trees, 

Mie  Parker’s  Grange,  far  spreedynge  to  the 
syghte, 

Mie  cuyen  kyne,  mie  bullockes  stringe  yn 
fyghte, 

Mie  gome  emblaunched  with  the  comfreie 
plante, 

Mie  floure  Seyncte  Marie  shotteyng  wythe  the 
lyghte, 

Mie  store  of  all  tke  blessynges  Heaven  can 
grant. 

I amm  duressed  unto  sorrowes  blowe, 

I hantend  to  the  peyne,  will  lette  ne  salte  teare 
flowe. 

RAUFE. 

Here  I wille  obaie  ^ untylle  Dethe  doe  ’pere. 

Here  lyche  a foule  empoysoned  leathel  tree, 

Whyche  sleaeth  everichone  that  commeth 
nere, 

Soe  wille  I,  fyxed  unto  thys  place,  gre. 

I to  bement  haveth  moe  cause  than  thee  ; 

Sleene  in  the  warre  mie  boolie  fadre  lies ; 

Oh ! joieous  I hys  mortherer  would  slea, 

And  bie  hys  syde  for  aie  enclose  myne  eies. 

Calked  from  everych  joie,  heere  wylle  I blede  ; 
F ell  ys  the  CuUys-yatte  of  mie  hartes  castle  stede. 

1 Abide.  This  line  is  also  wrote — 

“ Here  wyll  I obaie  untill  dethe  appere,” 
but  this  is  modernized,--CHATTERTOW. 


ECLOGUE  THE  SECOND. 


251 


ROBERTE. 

Oure  woes  alyche,  alyche  our  dome  shal  bee. 
Mie  sonne,  mie  sonne  alleyn,  ystorven  ys ; ^ 
Here  wylle  I staie,  and  end  mie  lyfF  with  thee ; 
A lyfF  lyche  myne  a borden  ys  ywis. 

Now  from  e’en  logges  fledden  is  selyness, 
Mynsterres  alleyn  can  boaste  the  hallie  Seyncte, 
Now  doeth  Englonde  weare  a bloudie  dresse 
And  wyth  her  champyonnes  gore  her  face 
depeyncte ; ^ 

Peace  fledde,  disorder  sheweth  her  dark  rode, 
And  thorow  ayre  doth  flie,  yn  garments  steyned 
with  bloude. 


1 * Alone  ’ is  never  used  for  * only ; * solus  for  unions ; seul  for 
unique.  The  distinction,  I believe,  exists  in  most  languages. 
If  the  learned  persons  do  not  yet  apprehend  it,  I would 
advise  them,  in  the  following  passage  of  Shakspeare — 

“ Ah ! no — it  is  my  only  son,” 

to  substitute  my  son  alone^  and  to  judge  for  themselves 
whether  the  difference  in  the  idea  suggested  arises  merely 
from  the  different  position  of  the  words. — Tyrwhitt. 

2 “ When  1 will  wear  a garment  all  of  blood, 

And  stain  my  favours  in  a bloody  mask.” 

Henry  IV.  Part  I. 


Ib2 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


ECLOGUE  THE  SECOND. 

NYGELLE. 

Sprytes  of  the  bleste,  the  pious  Nygelle  sed, 
Poure  owte  yer  pleasaunce  onn  mie  fadres  hedd- 


I. 

Rycharde  of  Lyons  harte  to  fyghte  is  gon, 
Uponne  the  brede  sea  doe  the  banners  gleme, 
The  amenused  nationnes  be  aston, 

To  ken  syke  large  a flete,  syke  fyne,  syke 
breme, 

The  barkis  heafods  coupe  the  lymed  streme ; 
Oundes  synkeynge  oundes  upon  the  hard  ake 
riese ; 

The  water  slughomes  wythe  a swotye  clerae 
Conteke  the  dynnynge  ayre,  and  reche  the  skies. 
Sprytes  of  the  bleste,  on  gouldyn  trones  astedde, 
Poure  owte  yer  pleasaunce  onn  mie  fadres  hedde. 


II. 

The  gule  depeyncted  oares  from  the  black  tyde, 
Decorn  wyth  fonnes  rare,  doe  shemrynge  ryse ; 
Upswalynge  doe  heie  shewe  ynne  drierie  pryde, 
Lyche  gore-red  estells  in  the  eve-merk  skyes  ; 
The  nome-depeyncted  ^ shields,  the  speres  aryse, 


Rebused  shields;  a herald  term,  when  the  charge  of  the 
shield  implies  the  name  of  the  bearer. — Chatterion. 


ECLOGUE  THE  SECOND. 


253 


Alyche  talle  roslies  on  tlie  water  syde ; 

Alenge  from  bark  to  bark  the  bryghte  slieene 
flyes; 

Sweft-kerv’d  delyghtes  doe  on  the  water  glyde. 
Sprytes  of  the  bleste,  and  everich  Seyncte  ydedde, 
Poure  owte  youre  pleasaunce  on  mie  fadres  hedde. 

HI. 

The  Sarasen  lokes  owte  : he  doethe  feere, 

That  Englondes  brondeous  sonnes  do  cotte  the 
waie. 

* Lyke  honted  bockes,  theye  reineth  here  and 
there, 

Onknowlachynge  inne  whatte  place  to  obaie. 
The  banner  glesters  on  the  beme  of  dale  ; 

The  mitte  crosse  Jerusalim  ys  seene ; 

Dhereof  the  syghte  yer  corragedoe  affraie. 

In  balefull  dole  their  faces  be  ywreene. 

Sprytes  of  the  bleste,  and  everich  Seyncte  ydedde, 
Poure  owte  your  pleasaunce  on  my  fadres  hedde. 


IV. 

The  bollengers  and  cottes,  so  swyfte  yn  fyghte, 
Upon  the  sydes  of  everich  bark  appere ; 
Foorthe  to  his  office  lepethe  every ch  knyghte, 
Eftsoones  hys  squyer,  with  hys  shielde  and 
spere. 

The  jynynge  shieldes  doe  shemre  and  moke 
glai-e ; 

The  dosheynge  oare  doe  make  gemoted  <lynne ; 


254 


ROWLET  POEMS. 


The  reynyng  foemen,  thynckeynge  gif  to  dare, 

Boun  the  merk  swerde,  theie  seche  to  fraie, 
theie  blyn. 

Sprytes  of  the  bleste,  and  everyche  Seyncte 
ydedde, 

Boure  owte  yer  pleasaunce  onne  mie  fadres  hedde. 

V. 

Now  comm  the  warrynge  Sarasyns  to  fyghte ; 

Kynge  Rycharde,  lyche  a lyoncel  of  warre, 

Inne  sheenynge  goulde,  lyke  feerie  gronfers 
dyghte, 

Shaketh  alofe  hys  honde,  and  seene  afarre. 

Syke  haveth  I espyde  a greter  starre 

Amenge  the  drybblett  ons  to  sheene  fulle 
bryghte  ; 

Syke  sunnys  wayne  wyth  amaykd  beames  doe 
barr 

The  blaunchie  mone  or  estells  to  gev  lyghte. 

Sprytes  of  the  bleste,  and  everich  Seyncte 
ydedde, 

Poure  owte  your  pleasaunce  on  mie  fadres  hedde. 


VI. 

Distraughte  affraie,  wythe  lockes  of  blodde-red 
die, 

Terroure,  emburled  yn  the  thonders  rage, 
Deathe,  lynked  to  dismaie,  dothe  ugsomme 
fiie, 

Enchafynge  eclione  champyonne  war  to  wage, 


ECLOGUE  THE  SECOiSD. 


2J5 


Speeres  bevyle  ^ speres  ; swerdes  upon  swerdes 
engage  ; 

Armoure  on  armoure  dynn,  shielde  upon 
shielde ; 

Ne  dethe  of  thosandes  can  the  warre  assuage, 

Botte  falleynge  nombers  sable  all  the  feelde. 
Sprytes  of  the  bleste,  and  everych  Seyncte 
ydedde, 

Poure  owte  youre  pleasaunce  on  mie  fadres  hedde. 

VII. 

The  foemen  fal  arounde ; the  cross  reles  hye ; 

Steyned  ynne  goere,  the  harte  of  warre  ys 
seen  ; 

Kyng  Rycharde,  thorough  everyche  trope  dotlie 
tlie, 

And  beereth  meynte  of  Turkes  onto  the 
greene ; 

Bie  hymm  the  floure  of  Asies  menn  ys  sleene ; 

The  waylynge  mone  doth  fade  before  hys 
sonne ; 

Bie  hym  hys  knyghtes  bee  formed  to  actions 
deene, 

Doeynge  syke  marvels,  strongers  be  aston.* 
Sprytes  of  the  bleste,  and  everych  Seyncte  ydedde, 
Poure  owte  your  pleasaunce  onn  mie  fadres  hedde. 

I The  idea  of  breaking^  which  is  quite  foreign  from  bevyle^ 
might  perhaps  have  been  suggested  by  the  following  passage 
m Kersey:  “Beblle  (in  heraldry)  broken  or  open,  like  a 
bevel  or  carpenter’s  rule.” — Tyrwhitt. 


256 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


VIII. 

The  fyghte  yswonne;  Kynge  Rycharde  master 
is; 

The  Englonde  bannerr  kisseth  the  hie  ayre ; 

Full  of  pure  joie  the  armie  is  iwys, 

And  everych  one  haveth  it  onne  his  bayre  ; 

Agayne  to  Englonde  comme,  and  worschepped 
there, 

Twyghte  into  lovynge  armes,  and  feasted  eft ; 

In  everych  eyne  aredynge  nete  of  wyere, 

Of  all  remembrance  of  past  peyne  berefte. 

Sprytes  of  the  bleste,  and  everich  Seyncte  ydedde, 

Syke  pleasures  powre  upon  mie  fadres  hedde. 

Syke  Nigel  sed,  whan  from  the  bluie  sea 

The  upswol  sayle  did  daunce  before  hys  eyne ; 

Swefte  as  the  wishe,  hee  toe  the  beeche  dyd 
flee, 

And  founde  his  fadre  steppeynge  from  the 
bryne. 

Lette  thyssen  menne,  who  haveth  sprite  of 
loove, 

Bithyncke  untoe  hemselves  how  mote  the  meet- 
ynge  proove. 


ECLOGUE  THE  THIRD. 


257 


ECLOGUE  THE  THIRD. 

MANNE,  WOMANNE,  SIR  ROGERRE. 

WouLDST  thou  kenn  nature  in  her  better  parte  ? 

Goe,  serche  the  logges  and  bordels  of  the 
hynde ; 

Gyff  theie  have  anie,  itte  ys  roughe-made  arte, 

Inne  hem  you  see  the  blakied  forme  of  kynde. 

Haveth  your  mynde  a lycheynge  of  a mynde  ? 

Woulde  it  kenne  everich  thynge,  as  it  mote 
bee  ? 

Woulde  ytte  here  phrase  of  vulgar  from  the 
hynde, 

Withoute  wiseegger  wordes  and  knowlache 
free? 

Gyfsoe,  rede  thys,  whyche  Iche  dysportynge 
pende  ; 

Gif  nete  besyde,  yttes  rhyme  maie  ytte  commende. 


MANNE. 

Botte  whether,  fayre  mayde,  do  ye  goe  ? 

0 where  do  ye  bende  yer  waie? 

I wille  knowe  whether  you  goe, 

1 wylle  not  bee  asseled  naie. 

WOMANNE. 

To  Robin  and  Nell,  all  downe  in  the  delle. 
To  hele  hem  at  makeynge  of  haie. 

VOL.  II.  17 


258 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


MANNE. 

Syr  Rogge  rre,  the  parsone,  hav  hyred  m(ie 
there, 

Comme,  comme,  lett  us  tryppe  ytte  awaie, 
We’lle  wurke  and  we’lle  synge,  and  weylle 
drenche  of  stronge  beer 
As  longe  as  the  merrie  sommers  dale. 

” WOMANNE. 

How  harde  ys  mie  dome  to  wurch ! 

Moke  is  mie  woe. 

Dame  Agnes,  whoe  lies  ynne  the  Chyrche 
With  birlette  golde, 

Wythe  gelten  aumeres  ^ stronge  ontolde, 

Wliat  was  shee  moe  than  me,  to  be  soe  ? 

MANNE. 

I kenne  Syr  Roger  from  afar 
Tryppynge  over  the  lea  ; 

Ich  ask  whie  the  loverds  son 
Is  moe  than  mee. 

SYR  ROGERRE. 

The  sweltrie  sonne  dothe  hie  apace  hys  wayne, 
From  everich  beme  a seme  of  lyfe  doe  falle ; 
Swythyn  scille  oppe  the  haie  uponne  the  playne ; 

1 Borders  of  gold  and  silver,  on  which  was  laid  thin  plates 
ol  either  metal  coiinterchnnged,  not  unlike  the  present  spaa 
gled  laces. — Chatterton. 


ECLOGUE  THE  THIRD. 


2,39 


Methynckes  the  cockes  begynneth  to  gre  talle. 

Thys  ys  alyche  oure  doome ; the  great,  the 
smalle, 

Mostc  withe  and  bee  forwyned  by  deathis  darte. 

See!  tlie  swote  flourette  bathe  noe  swote  at 
alle ; 

Itte  wythe  the  ranke  wede  bereth  evalle  parte. 

The  cravent,  warrioure,  and  the  wyse  be  blente, 
Alyche  to  drie  awaie  wythe  those  theie  dyd 
bemente. 


MANNE. 

All-a-boon,^  Syr  Priest,  all-a-boon. 

Bye  yer  preestschype  nowe  saye  unto  mee  ; 
Syr  Gaufryd  the  knyghte,  who  lyvetlie  harde 
bie, 

Whie  shoulde  hee  than  mee 

Bee  more  greate, 

Line  honnoure,  knyghtehoode  and  estate? 

SYR  ROGERRE, 

Attourne  thy  eyne  arounde  thys  haied  mee, 
Tentyfliedoke  arounde  the  diaper  delle; 

An  answere  to  thie  barganette  here  see, 

Thys  welked  flourette  wylle  a leson  telle  : 
Arist  it  blew,  itte  florished,  and  dyd  well, 

^ The  only  passage,  I believe,  in  which  these  eight  letters 
are  to  be  found  together  in  the  same  order  is  in  Chaucer, 
Canterbury  Tales,  v.  9492. 

And  alderfirst  he  bade  hem  all  a bone.” — Tyrwhitt. 


260 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Lokeynge  ascaunce  upon  the  naighboure 
greene ; 

Yet  with  the  deigned  greene  yttes  rennome 
felle, 

Eftsoones  ytte  shronke  upon  the  daie-brente 
playne, 

Didde  not  yttes  loke,  whilest  ytte  there  dyd 
stonde, 

To  croppe  ytte  in  the  bodde  move  somme  dred 
honde. 

Syke  ys  the  waie  of  lyffe  ; the  loverds  ente 

Mooveth  the  robber  hym  therfor  to  slea ; 

Gyf  thou  has  ethe,  the  shadowe  of  contente, 

Beleive  the  trothe,  theres  none  moe  haile  yan 
thee. 

Thou  wurchest;  welle,  canne  thatte  a trobble 
bee? 

Slothe  moe  wulde  jade  thee  than  the  roughest 
daie. 

Couldest  thou  the  kivercled  of  soughlys  see, 

Thou  wouldst  eftsoones  see  trothe  ynne  whatte 
I saie ; 

Botte  lette  me  heere  thie  waie  of  lyife,  and 
thenne 

Ueare  thou  from  me  the  lyffes  of  odher  menne. 


MANNE. 

I ryse  wythe  the  sonne, 
Lyche  hym  to  dryve  the  wayne, 


ECLOGUE  THE  THIRD. 


261 


And  eere  mie  wurclie  is  don 
I synge  a songe  or  tvvayne. 

I followe  the  plough-tayle, 

Wythe  a longe  jubb  of  ale. 

Botte  of  the  mavdens,  oh  1 
lire  lacketh  notte  to  tehe  5 
Syre  Preeste  mote  notte  crie  woe, 
Guide  hys  bull  do  as  welie. 

I daunce  the  beste  heiedeygnes, 

And  foile  the  wysest  feygnes. 

On  everych  Seynctes  hie  daie 
Wythe  the  mynstrelle  am  I seene, 

All  a footeynge  it  awaie, 

Wythe  may  dens  on  the  greene. 

But  oh  ! I wyshe  to  be  moe  greate, 

In  rennome,  tenure,  and  estate. 

SYR  ROGERRK. 

Has  thou  ne  seene  a tree  uponne  a hylle, 
Whose  unliste  braunces  rechen  far  toe  syghte ; 
Wh  an  fuired  unwers  doe  the  heaven  fylle, 

Ttte  shaketli  deere  yn  dole  and  moke  affryghte. 
Whylest  the  congeon  tiowrettc  abeseie  dyghte, 
Stondethe  unhurle,  unquaced  bie  the  stoi  me : 
Syke  is  a [)iete  of  lyffe  ; the  manne  of  myghte 
Is  tem[)est-ehaft,  hys  woe  greate  as  hys  forme  ; 
Thieselfe  a dowrette  of  a small  accounte, 
Wouldst  harder  felle  the  wynde,  as  hygher  thee 
dydste  mounte. 


ELINOURE  AND  JUGA.1 


Onne  Ruddeborne  bank  twa  pynynge  Maydena 
sate, 

Theire  teares  faste  dryppeynge  to  the  waterre 
cleere ; 

Echone  bementynge  for  her  absente  mate, 

Who  atte  Seyncte  AJbonns  shouke  the  mor- 
thynge  speare. 

The  nottebrowne  Elinoure  to  Juga  fayre 
Dydde  speke  acroole,^  wythe  languishment  of 
eyne, 

Lyche  droppes  of  pearlie  dew,  lemed  the  quyvryng 
brine. 

ELmOURE. 

O gentle  Juga  ! heare  mie  dernie  plainte. 

To  fyghte  for  Yorke  mie  love  ys  dyghte  in  stele ; 
O male  ne  sanguen  steine  the  'whyte  rose 
peyncte, 

l‘Rudborne'  (in  Saxon,  red-water)  a river  near  Saint  Al- 
bans, famous  for  the  battles  there  fought  between  the  Houses 
of  Lancaster  and  York. — Chatterton. 

2 * Acroole.’  This  word  has  no  authority  whatever.  ‘ To 
crool,’  however,  is  in  Bailey,  with  the  interpretation,  to  growly 
to  mutter y to  mumble.  A similar  word  is  said  likewise  to  have 
ienoted  the  sound  made  by  the  dove. 


ELINOURE  AND  JUGA. 


263 


Male  good  Seyncte  Cutliberte  vvatche  Syrre 
Koberte  wele. 

Moke  moe  tbanne  deatbe  in  pbantasie  I feele  ; 

See ! see ! upon  tbe  grounde  be  bleedynge 
lies; 

Inbild  some  joice  of  lyfe,  or  else  mie  deare  love 
dies. 

JUGA. 

Systers  in  sorrowe  on  tbys  daise-ey’d  banke, 

Where  melancbolycb  broods,  we  wyll  lamente ; 

Be  wette  wythe  mornynge  dewe  and  evene 
danke ; 

Lycbe  levynde  okes  in  eche  tbe  odber  bente, 

Or  lycbe  forlettenn  halles  of  merriemente, 

Whose  gastlie  mitcbes  holde  the  traine  of 
fryghte, 

Where  lethale  ravens  bark,  and  owlets  wake  the 
nyghte. 

ELINOURE. 

No  moe  tbe  miskynette  shall  wake  the  monie,^ 

The  minstrelle  daunce,  good  cheere,  and  mor- 
ryce  plaie  ; 

No  moe  tbe  amblynge  palfrie  and  the  home 

Shall  from  the  lessel  rouze  tbe  foxe  awaie  ; 

ril  seke  tbe  foreste  alle  tbe  ly ve-longe  daie ; 

1 In  the  spirit  of  Gray’s  Elegy — 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn, 

The  swallow  twittering  from  her  straw-built  shed; 
The  cock’s  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 

No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 


264 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Alle  nete  amenge  the  gravde  chjrche-glebe 
wyll  goe, 

And  to  the  passante  Spryglites  lecture  niie  tale 
of  woe. 

JUG  A. 

Whan  mokie  cloudes  do  hange  upon  the  leine 

Of  leden  Moon,  ynn  sylver  mantels  dyghte  ; 

The  tryppeynge  Faeries  weve  the  golden 
dreme 

Of  Selyness,  whyche  flyethe  wythe  the  nyghte ; 

Thenne  (botte  the  Seynctes  forbydde  !)  gif  to  a 
spryte 

Syrr  Rychardes  forme  ye  lyped  I’ll  holde 
dystraughte 

Ilys  bledeynge  claie-colde  corse,  and  die  eche 
daie  ynn  thoughte. 

ELINOURE. 

Ah  woe  bementynge  wordes  ; what  wordes  can 
shewe ! 

Thou  limed  ryver,  on  thie  linche  male  bleede 

Champyons,  whose  bloude  wylle  wythe  thie 
waterres  flowe, 

And  Rudborne  streeme  be  Rudborne  streeme 
iiideede  ! 

Haste,  gentle  Juga,  tryppe  ytte  oere  the 
meade, 

To  knowe,  or  wheder  we  muste  waile  agayne, 

Or  wythe  oure  fallen  knyghtes  be  menged  onne 
the  plain. 


ELINOURE  AND  JCJGA. 


2G5 


Soe  sayinge,  lyke  twa  levyn-blasted  trees, 

Or  twayne  of  cloudes  that  holdetli  stormie  rayne ; 

Theie  moved  gentle  oere  the  dewie  mees, 

To  where  Seyncte  Albons  holie  shrynes  re- 
mayne. 

There  dyd  theye  fynde  that  bothe  their  knyghtes 
were  slayne, 

Distraughte  theie  wandered  to  swoll’n  Rud- 
bornes  syde, 

Yelled  they  re  leathalle  knell  e,  sonke  ynn  the 
waves,  and  dyde. 


THE  STOKLE  OF  WILLIAM  CANYNGE.i 


I. 

Anent  a brooklette  as  I laie  reclynd, 

Listeynge  to  heare  the  water  glyde  alonge, 
Myndeynge  how  thorowe  the  grene  mees  yt 
twynd, 

Awhilst  the  cavys  respons’d  yts  mottring  songe, 

1 The  first  thirty-four  lines  of  this  poem  are  extant  upon 
another  of  the  vellum  fragments,  given  by  Chatterton  to  Mr. 
Barrett.2  The  remainder  is  printed  from  a copy,  furnished  by 
Mr.  Catcott,  with  some  corrections  from  another  copy,  made 
by  Mr.  Barrett  from  one  in  Chatterton’ s handwriting.  This 
poem  makes  part  of  the  prose  work,  attributed  to  Rowley, 
giving  an  account  of  painters,  carvellers,  poets,  and  other 
eminent  natives  of  Bristol,  from  the  earliest  times  to  his  own. 

The  transaction  alluded  to  in  the  last  stanza  is  related  at 
large  in  some  prose  memoirs  of  Rowley.  It  is  there  said  that 
Mr.'Canynge  went  into  orders,  to  avoid  a marriage,  proposed 
by  King  Edward,  between  him  and  a lady  of  the  Widdevile 
family.  It  is  certain,  from  the  register  of  the  Bishop  of 
Worcester,  that  Mr.  Canynge  was  ordained  Acolythe  by 
Bishop  Carpenter,  on  19th  September,  1467,  and  received  the 
higher  orders  of  subdeacon,  deacon,  and  priest,  on  the  12th 
of  March,  1467,  O.S.,  the  2d  and  16th  of  April,  1468,  respec- 
tively.— T YR WHITT’ s Edition, 

2 These  thirty-four  lines  and  one  more  short  poem  are  the 
Dnlj  scraps  of  poetry  which  Chatterton  ever  produced  as  the 
originals  of  Rowley. — Cottle's  Account  of  Rowley's  MSS. 


THE  STOKTE  OF  WILLIAM  CANYNGE.  2G7 

At  dystaunt  rjsyng  Avonne  to  be  sped, 

Amenged  wyth  rysyng  by  lies  dyd  she  we  yts  head ; 


II. 

Engarlanded  wyth  crownes  of  osyer  weedes 
And  wraytes  of  alders  of  a bercie  scent, 

And  stickeynge  out  wyth  clowde-agested  reedes, 
The  hoarie  Avonne  show’d  dyre  semblamente, 
Whylest  blataunt  Severne,  from  Sabryna  clepde, 
Rores  flemie  o’er  the  sandes  that  she  hepde. 

III. 

These  eynegears  swythyn  bringethe  to  mie 
thowghte 

Of  hardie  champyons  knowen  to  the  floude, 
How  onne  the  bankes  thereof  brave  -^lle 
foughte, 

JEWe  descended  from  Merce  kynglie  bloude, 
Warden  of  Brystowe  towne  and  castel  stede, 

Who  ever  and  anon  made  Danes  to  blede. 


IV. 

Methoughte  such  doughtie  menn  must  have  a 
sprighte 

Dote  yn  the  armour  brace  that  Mychael  bore. 
Whan  he  wyth  Satan,  kynge  of  helle,  dyd 
fyghte, 

And  earthe  was  drented  yn  a mere  of  gore  ; 
Orr,  soone  as  theie  dyd  see  the  worldis  lyghte, 
Fate  had  wrott  downe,  thys  mann  ys  borne  to 
fyghte. 


268 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


V. 

-ZElle,  I sayd,  or  els  my  mynde  dyd  sale, 

Wliie  ys  thy  actyons  left  so  spare  yn  storie  ? 
Were  I toe  dispone,  there  should  lyvven  eie 
In  erthe  and  hevenis  rolles  thie  tale  of  glorie  ; 
Thie  actes  soe  doughtie  should  for  aie  abyde, 
And  hie  theyre  teste  all  after  actes  be  tryde. 


VI. 

Next  holie  Wareburghus  fylld  mie  mynde, 

As  fayre  a sayncte  as  anie  tovvne  can  boaste, 
Or  bee  the  erthe  wyth  lyghte  or  merke  ywrynde, 
I see  hys  ymage  waulkeyng  throwe  the  coaste 
Fitz  Hardynge,  Bithrickus,  and  twentie  mpe 
Ynn  visyonn  Tore  mie  phantasie  dyd  goe. 

VII. 

Thus  all  mie  wandrynge  fay  tour  thynkeynge 
strayde, 

And  eche  dygne  buylder  dequac’d  onn  mie 
mynde, 

Whan  from  the  distaunt  streeme  arose  a mayde, 
Whose  gentle  tresses  mov’d  not  to  the  wynde  ; 
Lyche  to  the  sylver  moone  yn  frostie  neete, 

The  damoiselle  dyd  come  soe  blythe  and  sweete. 

VIII. 

Ne  browded  mantell  of  a scarlette  hue, 

Ne  shoone  pykes  plaited  o’er  wyth  ribbande 
geere, 


THE  STORIE  OF  WILLIAM  CANTxVGE.  2G9 

Ne  costlie  paraments  of  woden  blue, 

Noughte  of  a dresse,  but  bewtie  djd  shee  weere ; 
Naked  shee  and  loked  swete  of  you  the, 

All  dyd  bewryen  that  her  name  was  Trouthe. 


IX. 

The  ethie  ringletts  of  her  notte-browne  hayre 
What  ne  a manne  should  see  dyd  swotelie 
hyde, 

Whych  on  her  milk-white  bodykin  so  fay  re 
Dyd  showe  lyke  browne  streemes  fowlyng  the 
white  tyde. 

Or  veynes  of  brown  hue  yn  a marble  cuarr, 
Whyche  by  the  traveller  ys  kenn’d  from  farr. 


X. 

Astounded  mickle  there  I sylente  laie, 

Still  scauncing  wondrous  at  the  walkjmge 
syghte ; 

Mie  senses  forgarde  ne  coulde  reyn  awaie  ; 

But  was  ne  forstraughte  whan  shee  dyd  alyghte 
Anie  to  mee,  dreste  up  yn  naked  vie  we, 

Whych  mote  yn  some  ewbrycious  thoughtes 
abrewe. 


XL 

But  I ne  dyd  once  tnynke  of  wanton  thoughte  ; 
For  well  I mynded  what  bie  vowe  I hete. 

And  yn  mie  pockate  han  a crouchee  broughte, 
Whych  yn  the  blosom  woulde  such  sins  anete  j 


270 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


I lok’d  wyth  eyne  as  pure  as  angelles  doe, 

And  dyd  the  everie  thoughte  of  foule  eschewe. 

XII. 

Wyth  sweet  semblate  and  an  angefs  grace 
Shee  ’gan  to  lecture  from  her  gentle  breste ; 
For  Trouthis  wordes  ys  her  myndes  face, 

False  oratoryes  she  dyd  aie  deteste  ; 

Sweetnesse  was  yn  eche  worde  she  dyd  ywreene, 
Tho’  shee  strove  not  to  make  that  sweetnesse 
sheene. 

XIII. 

Shee  sayd ; mie  manner  of  appereynge  here 
Mie  name  and  sleyghted  myndbruch  male  thee 
telle  ; 

Fm  Trouthe,  that  dyd  descende  fromm  heaven- 
were, 

Goulers  and  courtiers  doe  not  kenne  mee  welle ; 
Tliie  inmoste  thoughtes,  thie  labrynge  brayne  I 
sawe, 

And  from  thie  gentle  dreeme  will  thee  adawe. 

XIV. 

Full  manie  champyons  and  menne  of  lore, 
Payncters  and  carvellers  have  gain’d  good  name, 
But  there’s  a Canynge,  to  encrease  the  store, 

A Canynge,  who  shall  buie  uppe  alle  theyre 
fame. 

Take  thou  mie  power,  and  see  yn  chylde  and  manne 
What  troulie  noblenesse  yn  Canynge  ranne. 


THE  STORIE  OF  WILLIAM  CANYXGE.  271 


XV. 

As  when  a bordelier  onn  ethie  bedde, 

Tjr’d  wyth  the  labour es  maynt  of  sweltrie 
dale, 

Yn  slepeis  bosom  laieth  hys  deft  headde, 

So,  senses  sonke  to  reste,  mie  boddie  laie  ; 
Eftsoons  mie  sprighte,  from  erthlie  bandes  untyde^ 
Immengde  yn  flanched  ayre  wyth  Trouthe  asyde. 

XVI. 

Strayte  was  I carry ’d  back  to  tymes  of  yore, 
Whylst  Canynge  swathed  yet  yn  fleshlie  bedde, 
And  saw  all  actyons  whych  ban  been  before. 
And  all  the  scroll  of  F ate  unravelled  ; 

And  when  the  fate-mark’d  babe  acome  to  syghte, 

I saw  hym  eager  gaspynge  after  lyghte 

XVII. 

In  all  hys  shepen  gambols  and  chyldes  plaie. 

In  everie  merriemakeyng,  fayre  or  wake, 

I kenn’d  a perpled  lyghte  of  Wysdom’s  raie  ; 
He  eate  downe  learnynge  wyth  the  wastle  cake. 
As  wise  as  anie  of  the  eldermenne. 

He’d  wytte  enowe  toe  make  a mayre  at  tenne.^ 

1 Of  his  native  city  he  was  mayor  five  times;  and  beside 
feeveral  other  charities,  founded  an  alms-house  or  hospital 
(which  is  yet  in  being)  at  Redclifte-hill ; and  built  a chapel, 
and  that  noble  church  of  St  Mary  Redcliffe,  the  finest  parish 
church  in  England — 


272 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


XVIII. 

As  llie  dulce  downie  barbe  beganne  to  gre, 

So  was  tlie  well  thyglite  texture  of  hjs  lore ; 
Eche  daie  enhedeynge  mockler  for  to  bee, 
Greets  yn  hys  councel  for  the  dales  he  bore. 
All  tongues,  all  carrols  dyd  unto  hym  synge, 
VVondryng  at  one  soe  wyse,  and  yet  soe  yinge. 

XIX. 

Encreaseynge  yn  the  yeares  of  mortal  lyfe, 
And  hasteynge  to  hys  journie  ynto  heaven, 
Hee  thoughte  ytt  proper  for  to  cheese  a wyfe. 
And  use  the  sexes  for  the  purpose  gevene. 
Hee  then  was  yothe  of  comelie  semelikeede. 
And  hee  had  made  a mayden’s  herte  to  blede. 


XX. 

He  had  a fider,  (Jesus  rest  hys  soule  !) 

Who  loved  money,  as  hys  charie  joie  ; 

Hee  had  a broder  (happie  manne  be’s  dole !) 

Yn  mynde  and  boddie,  hys  owne  fadre’s  bole ; 
What  then  could  Canynge  wissen  as  a parte 
To  gyve  to  her  whoe  had  made  chop  of  he  arte  ? 

“ The  maystrie  of  a human  hande, 

The  pryde  of  Bristowe  and  the  Westerne  land.” 
Full  of  good  works,  he  died  in  the  year  1474,  and  was  buried 
in  Redcliff  church,  where  two  monuments  were  erected  to  his 
memory;  one  with  his  effigies  in  the  robes  of  a magistrate, 
the  other  in  those  of  a priest  cut  in  white  marble. — Memoirs 
of  Sir  William  C<JU'^nge, 


THE  STOIIIE  OF  WILLIAM  CANYNGE.  273 


XXL 

But  landes  and  castle  tenures,  golde  and  bighes. 
And  lioardes  of  sjdver  rousted  yn  the  ent, 
Canynge  and  hys  fayre  sweete  dyd  tliat  despyse, 
To  change  of  troulie  love  was  theyr  content; 
riieie  lyv’d  togeder  yn  a house  adygne, 

Of  goode  sendaument  commilie  and  fyne. 

XXII. 

Butte  soone  hys  broder  and  liys  syre  dyd  die, 
And  lefte  to  Willyam  states  and  renteynge 
rolles, 

And  at  hys  wyll  liys  broder  Johne  ^ supplie. 
Hee  gave  a chauntrie  to  redeeme  theyre 
soules ; 

And  put  hys  broder  ynto  syke  a trade, 

That  he  lorde  mayor  of  Londonne  towne  was 
made.*^ 


XXIII. 

Eftsoones  hys  mornynge  tourn’d  to  gloomie 
nyghte  ; 

Hys  dame,  hys  seconde  selfe,  gave  upp  her 
brethe, 

Seekeynge  for  eterne  lyfe  and  endless  lyghte, 
And  deed  good  Canynge  ; sad  mystake  of  dethe  ! 

’ Called  ‘ Thomas,’  by  Stow,  in  his  list  of  ma^mrs. 

This  is  true;  Canning  was  Lord  Mayor  of  London  in 
V456. 


VOL,  II. 


18 


274 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Soe  have  I seen  a flower  ynn  Sommer  tyme 
Trodde  downe  and  broke  and  widder  ynn  ytte 
pryme. 

XXIV. 

Next  Radcleeve  chyrche  (oh  worke  of  hando 
of  heav’n, 

Whare  Canynge  sheweth  as  an  instrumente,) 

Was  to  my  bismarde  eyne-syghte  newlie  giv’n; 

’Tis  past  to  blazonne  ytt  to  good  contente. 

You  that  woulde  faygn  the  fetyve  buyldynge  see 
Repayre  to  Radcleve,  and  contented  bee. 

XXV. 

1 sawe  the  myndbruch  of  hys  nobille  soule 

Whan  Edwarde  meniced  a seconde  wyfe ; 

I saw  what  Pheryons  yn  hys  mynde  dyd  rolle ; 

No  we  fyx’d  fromm  seconde  dames  a preeste  for 
lyfe. 

Thys  ys  the  manne  of  menne,  the  vision  spoke ; 
Then  belle  for  even-songe  mie  senses  woke. 

To  this  poem  we  may  add  the  following  j»ros6  “ account  of 
this  extraordinary  person,  written  by  Rowley  the  priest;” 
printed  in  the  “Town  and  Country  Magazine  for  Nov.  1775,” 
and  republished  with  several  corrections  in  Southey’s  edi- 
tion. 

It  forms  one  of  the  MSS.  communicated  by  Chatterton  as 
original,  and  is  preserved  with  the  others  in  the  Britlsn 
Museum. 

“ It  is  written  with  red  ink,  the  letters  are  perfectly  dis- 
tinct, and  the  first  line  is  written  in  the  common  attorney’s 
iext-hand.  The  parchment  appears  brown  from  some  liquid 
sliat  has  been  applied  to  it,  but  for  which  it  is  difficult  tc 


THE  STORIE  OF  WILLIAM  CANYNGE.  275 

assign  any  reason,  except  to  give  the  parchment  a mistaken 
appearance  of  age.  The  letters  are  remarkably  legible,  and 
being  red  ink^  they  could  not  require  oak  bark,  or  any  similar 
composition  to  render  them  more  so.  We  must  conclude 
that  this  brown  tint  was  communicated  by  Chatterton,  but 
it  is  singular  that  he  should  not  have  discoloured  the  whole 
of  the  surface,  as  one  corner  of  the  parchment  discovers  its 
natural  colour.” — Cottiers  Account  of  Rowley's  MSS. 


BOME  FURTHER  ACCOUNT  OF  THIS  EXTRAORDINARY  PERSON, 
WRITTEN  BY  ROWLEY  THE  PRIEST. 

“ I was  fadre  confessor  to  masteres  Roberte  and  Mastro 
William  Cannings.  Mastre  Robert  was  a man  after  his 
fadre’s  own  harte,  greedie  of  gaynes  and  sparynge  of  alms 
deedes;  but  master  William  was  mickle  courteous,  and  gave 
me  many  marks  in  my  needs.  At  the  age  of  22  years  dea- 
ces’d  master  Roberte,  and  by  master  William’s  desyre  be- 
queathd  me  one  hundred  marks ; I went  to  thank  master 
William  for  his  mickle  courtesie,  and  to  make  tender  of  my- 
selfe  to  him. — Fadre,  quod  he,  I have  a crotchett  in  my 
brayne,  that  will  need  your  aide.  Master  William,  said  I,  if 
you  command  me  I will  go  to  Roome  for  you;  not  so  farr 
distant,  said  he:  I ken  you  fora  mickle  learned  priest:  if  you 
will  leave  the  parysh  of  our  ladie,  and  travel  for  mee,  it  shall 
oe  mickle  to  your  profits. 

“ I gave  my  hands,  and  he  told  mee  I must  goe  to  all  the 
abbies  and  pryorys,  and  gather  together  auncient  drawyings, 
if  of  anie  account,  at  anyprice.  Consented  I to  the  same, 
and  pursuant  sett  out  the  Mundaie  following  for  the  minster 
of  our  Ladie  and  Saint  Good\vyne,  where  a drawing  of  a 
steeple,  contryvd  for  the  belles  wdien  runge  to  sw^aie  out  of 
the  syde  into  the  ayre,  had  I thence;  it  was  done  by  Syr 
Symon  de  Mambrie,  who,  in  the  troublesomme  rayne  of  kyng 
Stephen,  devoted  himselfe,  and  was  shorne. 

“ Hawkes  showd  me  a manuscript  in  Saxonne,but  I was  on - 
ley  to  bargayne  for  drawyings. — The  next  drawyngs  I metten 
witli  was-  a church  to  be  reard,  sc  as  in  form  of  a cross,  the 


276 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


end  standing  in  the  ground ; a long  manuscript  was  annexed. 
Master  Canning  thought  no  workman  culd  be  found  liandie 
enough  to  do  it. — The  tale  of  the  drawers  deserveth  relation.— 
Thomas  de  Blunderville,  a preeste,  although  the  preeste  had 
no  allows,  lovd  a fair  mayden,  and  on  her  begatt  a sonn. 
Thomas  educated  his  sonn;  at  sixteen  years  he  went  into  the 
warrs,  and  neer  did  return  for  five  years. — His  mother  w^as 
married  to  a knight,  and  bare  a daughter,  then  sixteen,  who 
was  seen  and  lovd  by  Thomas,  sonn  of  Thomas,  and  married 
to  him,  unknown  to  her  mother,  by  Ralph  de  Mesching,  of 
the  minster,  who  invited,  as  custom  was,  two  of  his  brothers, 
'ihomas  de  Blunderville  and  John  Heschamme.  Thomas 
nevertheless  had  not  seen  his  sonn  for  five  years,  yet  keniid 
him  instantly;  and  learning  the  name  of  the  bryde,  took  him 
asydde  and  disclosed  to  him  that  he  was  his  sonn,  and  was 
weded  to  his  own  sistre.  Yoynge  Thomas  toke  on  so  that  he 
was  shorne. 

“ He  drew  manie  fine  drawyinges  on  glass. 

“ The  abott  of  the  minster  of  Peterburrow  sold  it  me;  he 
might  have  bargayned  20  marks  better,  but  master  William 
would  not  part  with  it.  The  prior  of  Coventree  did  sell  me 
a picture  of  great  account,  made  by  Badilian  Yhillyanne, 
who  did  live  in  the  reign  of  Kynge  Henrie  the  First,  a mann  of 
fickle  temper,  havyng  been  tendred  syx  pounds  of  silver  for 
it,  to  which  he  said  naie,  and  afterwards  did  give  it  to  the 
then  abott  of  Coventriee.  In  brief,  I gathered  together  manie 
marks  value  of  fine  drawyings,  all  the  works  of  mickle  cun- 
ning.— Master  William  culld  the  most  choise  parts,  but  hear- 
ing of  a drawying  in  Durham  church  hee  did  send  me. 

“Fadree,  you  have  done  mickle  well,  all  the  chatils  are 
more  worth  than  you  gave;  take  this  for  your  paynes;  so 
saying,  he  did  put  into  my  hands  a purse  of  two  hundreds 
good  pounds,  and  did  say  that  I should  note  be  in  need;  I did 
thank  him  most  heartily. — The  choise  drawyng,  when  his 
fadre  did  dye,  was  begunn  to  be  put  up,  and  somme  houses 
near  the  old  church  erased;  it  was  drawn  by  Afiema,  preeste 
of  St.  Cutchberts,  and  offered  as  a drawyng  for  Westminster, 
but  cast  asyde,  being  the  tender  did  not  speak  French. — I 
bad  now  mickle  of  ryches,  and  lyvd  in  a house  on  the  hill, 


THE  STORIE  OF  WILLIAM  CANYNGE.  277 


^ften  repayrings  to  mastere  William,  who  was  now  lord  of 
Ihe  house.  I sent  him  my  verses  touching  his  church,  for 
which  he  did  send  me  mickle  good  things. — In  the  year  kyng 
Edward  came  to  Bristow,  master  Cannings  send  for  me  to 
avoid  a marrige  which  the  kyng  was  bent  upon  between 
him  and  a ladle  he  ne’er  had  seen,  of  the  familee  of  the  Wind- 
devilles;  the  danger  were  nigh,  unless  avoided  by  one  remi- 
dee,  an  holie  one,  which  was,  to  be  ordained  a sonn  of  holy 
church,  beyng  franke  from  the  power  of  kynges  in  that  cause, 
and  cannot  be  wedded. — Mr.  Cannings  instauntly  sent  me  to 
Carpenter,  his  good  friend,  bishop  of  Worcester,  and  the  Fry- 
day  following  was  prepaird  and  ordaynd  the  next  day,  the 
daie  of  St.  Mathew,  and  on  Sunday  sung  his  first  mass  in 
the  church  of  our  ladie,  to  the  astonishing  of  kyng  Edward, 
who  w^as  so  furiously  madd  and  ravyngs  withall,  that  master 
Cannings  was  wyling  to  give  him  3000  marks,  which  gave 
him  peace  again,  and  he  was  admyted  to  the  presence  of  the 
kyng,  staid  in  Bristow,  partook  of  all  his  pleasures  and  pas- 
times till  he  departed  the  next  year. 

“ I gave  master  Cannings  my  Bristow  tragedy,  for  which 
he  gave  me  in  hands  twentie  pounds,  and  did  praise  it  more 
than  I did  think  myself  did  deserve,  for  I can  say  in  troth  I 
was  never  proud  of  my  verses  since  I did  read  master 
Chaucer;  and  now  haveing  nought  to  do,  and  not  wyling  to 
be  ydle,  I went  to  the  minster  of  our  Ladie  and  Saint  Good- 
win, and  then  did  purchase  the  Saxon  manuscripts,  and  sett 
myselfe  diligentley  to  translate  and  worde  it  in  English  metre, 
which  in  one  year  I performed  and  styled  it  the  Battle  of 
Ilastyngs;  master  William  did  bargyin  for  one  manuscript, 
and  John  Pelham,  an  esquire  of  Ashley,  for  another. — Master 
William  did  praise  it  muckle  greatly,  but  advised  me  to  ten- 
der it  to  no  man,  beying  the  menn  whose  name  were  therein 
mentioned  would  be  offended.  He  gave  me  20  markes,  and 
I did  goe  to  Ashley,  to  master  Pelham,  to  be  payd  of  him  for 
the  other  one  I left  with  him. 

“ But  his  ladie  being  of  the  family  of  the  Fiscamps,  of  wrhom 
some  things  are  said,  he  told  me  he  had  burnt  it,  and  would 
have  me  burnt  if  I did  not  avaunt.  Dureing  this  dinn  his  wife 
did  come  out,  and  made  a dinn  to  speake  by  a figure,  would 


278 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


have  over  sounded  the  bells  of  our  Ladle  of  the  Cliffe ; 1 was 
fain  content  to  get  away  in  a safe  skin. 

“ I wrote  my  Justice  of  Peace,  which  master  Cannings 
advisd  me  secrett  to  keep,  which  I did;  and  now  being 
grown  auncient  I was  seizd  with  great  pains,  which  did  cost 
me  mickle  of  marks  to  be  cured  off. — Master  William  offered 
me  a cannon’s  place  in  Westbury  College,  which  gladly  had 
1 accepted  but  m}’’  pains  made  me  stay  at  home.  After  this 
mischance  I livd  in  a house  by  the  Tower,  which  has  not 
been  repaird  since  Robert  Consult  of  Gloucester  repayrd  the 
castle  and  wall;  here  I livd  warm,  but  in  my  house  on  the 
hyll  the  ayer  was  mickle  keen ; some  marks  it  cost  me  to  put 
in  repair  my  new  house;  and  brynging  my  chattels  from  the 
ould;  it  was  a fine  house,  and  I much  marville  it  was  unten- 
anted. A person  greedy  of  gains  was  the  then  possessour, 
and  of  him  I did  buy  it  at  a very  small  rate,  having  lookd  on 
the  ground  works  and  mayne  supports,  and  fynding  them 
staunch,  and  repayrs  no  need  wanting,  I did  buy  of  the 
owner,  Geoffry  Coombe,  on  a repay  ring  lease  for  99  years,  he 
thinkying  it  would  fall  down  everie  day;  but  with  a few 
marks  expence  did  put  it  up  in  a manner  neat,  and  therein  I 


ONN  OURE  LADIES  CHYRCHE.l 


As  onn  a hylle  one  eve  sittynge, 

At  oure  Ladie’s  Chyrche  mouclie  wonderynge, 
The  counynge  handieworke  so  fyne, 

Han  well  nighe  dazeled  mine  eyne  ; 

Quod  I ; some  counynge  fairie  hande 
Yreer’d  this  chapelle  in  this  lande  ; 

Fulle  well  I wote  so  fine  a syghte 
Was  ne  yreer’d  of  mortall  wighte. 

Quod  Trouthe  ; thou  lackest  knowlachynge  ; 
Thou  forsoth  ne  wotteth  of  the  thynge. 

A Rev’rend  Fadre,  William  Canynge  hight, 
Yreered  uppe  this  chapelle  brighte ; 

And  eke  another  in  the  Towne, 

Where  glassie  bubblynge  Trymme  doth  roun. 
Quod  I ; ne  doubte  for  all  he’s  given 
His  sowle  will  certes  goe  to  heaven. 

Yea,  quod  Trouthe  ; than  goe  thou  home, 

Amd  see  thou  doe  as  hee  hath  donne. 

Quod  I ; I doubte,  that  can  ne  bee  ; 

I have  ne  gotten  markes  three. 

Quod  Trouthe  ; as  thou  hast  got,  give  almes- 
dedes  soe ; 

Canynges  and  Gaunts  culde  doe  ne  moe. 

^ From  a copy  made  by  Mr.  Catcott,  from  one  in  Chatter- 
ton’s  lianiwriting. — Tyrwhttt’s  Edition. 


ON  THE  SAME.1 


Stay,  curjous  traveller,  and  pass  not  bye, 
Until  this  fetive  pile  astounde  thine  eye. 

Whole  rocks  on  rocks  with  yron  joynd  surveie. 
And  okes  with  okes  entremed  disponed  lie. 

This  mightie  pile,  that  keeps  the  wyndes  at 
baie, 

Fyre-levyn  and  the  mokie  storme  defie. 

That  shootes  aloofe  into  the  reaulmes  of  daie. 
Shall  be  the  record  of  the  Buylders  fame  for  aie. 

Thou  seest  this  maystrie  of  a human  hand. 

The  pride  of  Brystowe  and  the  Westerne  lande. 
Yet  is  the  Buylders  vertues  much  moe  greete. 
Greeter  than  can  bie  Rowlies  pen  be  scande. 
Thou  seest  the  saynctes  and  kynges  in  stoiien 
state. 

That  seem’d  with  breath  and  human  soule  dis- 
pande. 

As  payrde  to  us  enseem  these  men  of  slate. 
Such  is  greete  Canynge’s  mynde  when  payrd  to 
God  elate. 

1 From  a MS.  in  Chatterton’s  hiind writing,  furnished  by 
Mr.  Catcott,  entitled,  A Discourse  on  Bristowe,  by  Thomas 
Bowlie.” — Tyrwhitt’s  Edition, 


ON  THE  SAME. 


281 


Well  maiest  thou  be  astounde,  but  view  it  well; 
Go  not  from  hence  before  thou  see  thy  fill ; 

And  learn  the  Builder’s  vertues  and  his  name ; 
Of  this  tall  spyre  in  every  countye  tell, 

And  with  thy  tale  the  lazing  rych  men  shame  ; 
Showe  howe  the  glorious  Canynge  did  excelle ; 
How  hee,  good  man,  a friend  for  kynges  be- 
came. 

And  gloryous  paved  at  once  the  way  to  heaven 
and  fame. 


DN  THE  DEDICATION  OF  OUR  LADIF/S 
CHURCH.’ 


So  ONE  as  brjght  sonne  alonge  the  skyne, 
Han  sente  hys  ruddie  lyghte ; 

And  fayryes  hyd  ynne  Oslyppe  cuppes, 
Tylle  wysh’d  approche  of  nyghte, 

The  mattyn  belle  wyth  shryllie  sounde, 
Reeckode  throwe  the  ayre  ; 

A troop  of  holie  freeres  dyd, 

For  Jesus  masse  prepare. 

Arounde  the  highe  unsaynted  chyrche, 
Wythe  holie  relyques  wente  ; 

And  every  door  and  poste  aboute 
Wythe  godlie  thynges  besprent. 

Then  Carpenter  yn  scarlette  dreste, 

And  mytred  holylie  ; 

From  Mastre  Canynge  hys  greate  howse, 
Wyth  rosarie  dyd  hie. 

Before  hym  wente  a throng  of  freeres 
Who  dyd  the  masse  songe  synge, 

Behynde  hym  Mastre  Canynge  came, 

^ This  poem  was  given  by  Chatterton  in  a note  to  the 
Parliamente  of  Sprytes.  The  lines  are  here  divided  into  the 
Vallad  length. — Southey’s  Edition, 


DEDICATION  OF  OUR  LADIE’s  CHURCH.  283 

Tryck’d  lyke  a barbed  kynge, 

And  then  a rowe  of  holie  freeres 
Who  dyd  the  mass  songe  sound ; 

The  procurators  and  chyrche  reeves 
Next  prest  upon  the  ground, 

And  when  unto  the  chyrche  theye  came 
A holie  masse  was  sange, 

So  lowdlie  was  theyr  swotie  voyce, 

The  heven  so  hie  it  range. 

Then  Carpenter  dyd  puryfie 
The  chyrche  to  Godde  for  aie, 

Wythe  holie  masses  and  good  psalmes 
Whyche  hee  dyd  thereyn  saie. 

Then  was  a sermon  preeched  soon 
Bie  Carpynterre  holie, 

And  after  that  another  one 
Ypreechen  was  bie  mee  : 

Thenn  alle  dyd  goe  to  Canynges  house 
An  Enterlude  to  playe. 

And  drynk  hys  wyne  and  ale  so  goode 
And  praie  for  him  for  aie. 


FRAGMENT, 


BY  JOHN,  SECOND  ABBATTE  OF  SEYNCTE 
AUSTYNS  MYNSTERReJ 

Harte  of  lyone ! shake  thie  sworde, 

Bare  thie  mortheynge  steinede  honde ; 

Quace  whole  armies  to  the  queede, 

Worke  thie  wylle  yn  burlie  bronde. 

Barons  here  on  bankers-browded, 

Fyghte  yn  furres  gaynste  the  cale  ; 

Whilest  thou  ynne  thonderynge  armes 
Warriketh  whole  cyttyes  bale. 

Harte  of  lyon  ! Sound  the  beme  ! 

Sounde  ytte  ynto  inner  londes, 

Feare  flies  sportine  ynne  the  cleeme, 

Inne  thie  banner  terror  stondes.^ 

1 From  Barrett’s  History  of  Bristol.  It  was  sent  by  Chat- 
terton  to  Horace  Walpole,  as  a note  to  Rowleie’s  Historie  of 
Peyncters.  “ This  John,”  he  says,  “was  inducted  abbot  in 
the  year  1186,  and  sat  in  the  dies  29  years.  He  was  the 
p^reatest  poet  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived ; he  understood  the 
learned  languages.  Take  a specimen  of  his  poetry  on  King 
Richard  1st.” — Southey’s  Edition. 

2 If  any  one  can  perceive  any  difference  of  hand  between  this 
poem,  attributed  to  Abbot  John^  and  those  which  pass  under 
the  name  of  the  supposed  Rowley,  he  must  possess  much 
greater  powers  of  discrimination  than  fall  to  the  share  oi 
common  critics. — Tyrwhitt. 


PARLYAMENTE 


OF 

SPRYTES. 


A MOST  MERRIE  ENTERLUDE. 


Chatterton’s  answer  to  the  strong  objection  arising  from 
the  smoothness  of  Rowley’s  poetry,  when  stated  to  him  by 
Horace  Walpole,  is  very  remarkable — “ The  harmony  is  not 
so  extraordinary,  as  Joseph  Iscam  is  altogether  as  harmoni- 
ous.” Now,  as  Joseph  Iscam  is  equally  a person  of  dubious 
existence,  this  is  a curious  instance  of  placing  (he  elephant 
upon  the  tortoise.  His  ruling  passion  was  not  the  vanity  of 
a poet,  who  depends  upon  the  opinion  of  others  for  its  grati- 
fication, but  the  stoical  pride  of  talent,  which  felt  nourish- 
ment in  the  solitary  contemplation  of  superiority  over  the 
dupes  who  fell  into  his  toils. — Sir  Walter  Scott. 


A MOST  MERRIE  ENTYRLUDE, 


Plaied  bie  the  Carmelyte  Freeres  at  Mastre  Canynges  hys 
greete  howse,  before  Mastre  Canynges  and  Byshoppe  Car- 
penterre,!  on  dedicatynge  the  chyrche  of  Oure  Ladie  of 
Reddefte,  hight 

THE  PARLIAMENTE  OF  SPRYTES. 


WROTEN  BIE  T.  ROWLEIE  AND  J.  ISCAMME.2 


Entroductyon  bie  Queene  Mahbe 

(Bie  ISCAMME.) 

Whan  from  the  erthe  the  sonnes  hulstred, 

Than  from  the  flouretts  straughte  ^ with  dewe  ; • 

* John  Carpenter,  bishop  of  Worcester,  who,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  Mr.  Canynge,  founded  the  Abbey  at  Westbury. 

2 John  Iscam,  according  to  Rowley,  was  a canon  of  the 
monastery  of  Saint  Augustine,  in  Bristol.  He  wrote  a 
dramatic  piece  called  “ The  Pleasaunt  Dyscorses  of  Lam- 
yngeton;”  also,  at  the  desire  of  Mr.  Canynge  (Rowley  be- 
ing then  collecting  of  Drawings  for  Mr.  Canynge)  he  trans- 
lated a Latin  piece  called  “ Miles  Brystolli,”  into  English 
metre.  The  place  of  his  birth  is  not  known. — Chatterton. 

8 Stretched.  I think  this  line  is  borrowed  from  a much 
better  one  of  Rowley’s,  viz:  “Like  kynge  cuppes  brasteynge 
wyth  the  mornynge  dew.”  The  reason  why  1 think  Iscam 
guilty  of  the  plagiary  is,  that  the  “ Songe  to  Ella,*’  from 


288 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Mie  leege  menne  makes  yee  awliaped, 

And  wytches  theyre  wytcliencref  doe. 

Tlien  ryse  the  sprytes  ugsome  and  rou, 

And  take  theyre  walke  the  letten  throwe. 

Than  do  the  sprytes  of  valourous  menne, 

Agleeme  along  the  barbed  halle  ; 

Pleasaunte  the  moultrynge  banners  kenne, 

Or  sytte  arounde  yn  honourde  stalle. 

Oure  sprytes  atourne  theyr  eyne  to  nyghte, 

And  looke  on  Canynge  his  chyrche  bryghte. 

In  sothe  yn  alle  mie  bismarde  rounde, 

Troolie  the  thynge  muste  be  bewryen : 

Inne  stone  or  woden  worke  ne  founde, 

Nete  so  bielecoyle  to  myne  eyne 

As  ys  goode  Canynge  hys  chyrche  of  stone, 

Whych  blatauntlie  wylle  shewe  his  prayse  alone 

To  Johannes  Carpenterre  Byshoppe  of  Worcesterre, 

. (Bie  Rowleie.) 

To  you  goode  Byshoppe,  I address  mie  saie. 

To  you  who  honoureth  the  clothe  you  weare ; 
Lyke  pretious  bighes  ynne  golde  of  beste  allaie 
Echone  dothe  make  the  other  seerne  more  fay  re : 
Other  than  you  ^ where  coulde  a manne  be  founde 
So  fytte  to  make  a place  bee  holie  grounde. 

when  whence  tlie  above  line  is  taken,  was  wrote  when  Row- 
ley  was  in  London,  collecting  of  drawings  for  Mr.  Canynge 
to  build  the  church,  and  l.^cam  wrote  the  above  little  be- 
fore the  finishing  of  the  church. — Cmattehton. 

1 “ Other  than  you,”  &;c.  Carpenter  dedicated  the  church, 
as  appears  by  a poem  written  by  Rowley. — Chatterton. 


THE  PAllLYAMENTE  OF  SPRYTES.  289 


The  sainctes  ynne  stones  so  netelie  carvelled, 
Theie  scantlie  are  whatte  theie  enseeme  to  be  ; 
Bie  fervente  praier  of  yours  myghte  rear  tlieyre 
heade 

And  chaunte  owte  masses  to  oure  Yyrgyne. 

Was  everie  prelate  lyke  a Carpenterre, 

The  chyrche  would  ne  blushe  at  a Wyncliesterre, 

Learned  as  Beauclerke,  as  the  confessour 
Holie  ynne  lyfe,  lyke  Canynge  charitable, 

Busie  in  holie  chyrche  as  Vavasour, 

Slack e yn  thynges  evylle,  yn  alle  goode  thynges 
stable. 

Honest  as  Saxonnes  was,  from  whence  thou’rt 
sprunge, 

Tho’  boddie  weak  thie  soule  for  ever  younge. 

Thou  knowest  welle  thie  conscience  free  from 
steyne, 

Thie  soule  her  rode  no  sable  batements  have ; 
Yclenchde  oer  wythe  vyrtues  beste  adaygne, 

A dale  seterne  thie  mynde  does  aie  adave. 

Ne  spoyled  widdowes,  orphyans  dystreste, 

Ne  starvvynge  preestes  y erase  thie  nyghtlie  reste. 

Here  then  to  thee  let  me  for  one  and  alle 
Give  lawde  to  Carpenterre  and  commendatyon, 
For  hys  grete  vyrtues  but  alas  ! too  smalle 
[s  mie  poore  skylle  to  shewe  you  hys  juste 
blatyon, 

VOL.  II. 


19 


290 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Or  to  blaze  forthe  hys  publicke  goode  alone, 

Ajid  alle  hys  pry vate  goode  to  Godde  and  hym  ys 
knowne. 

Spryte  of  Nymrodde  speaketk. 

(Bie  ISCAMME.) 

Soon  as  the  morne  but  newlie  wake, 

Spyed  Nyghte  ystorven  lye : 

On  herre  corse  dyd  dew  droppes  shake, 

Then  fore  the  sonne  upgotten  was  I. 

Then  rampynge  lyon,  felle  tygere, 

The  bocke  that  skyppes  from  place  to  place, 
The  olyphaunte  ^ and  rhynocere. 

Before  mee  throughe  the  greene  wood  I dyd 
cliace. 

Nymrodde  as  scryptures  hyght  mie  name, 
Baalle  as  jetted  stories  saie  ; 

For  rearynge  Babelle  of  greete  fame, 

Mie  name  and  renome  shalle  lyven  for  aie  : 
But  here  I spie  a fyner  rearynge, 

Genst  whych  the  clowdes  dothe  not  fyghte, 
Onne  whych  the  starres  doe  sytte  to  ap- 
pearynge  : 

Weeke  menne  thynkeytte  reache  the  kyngdom 
of  lyghte. 

I Elephant.  So  an  ancient  anonymous  author: 

The  olyphaunt  of  beastes  is 
The  wisest  I wis, 

For  hee  alwaie  dothe  eat 

Lyttle  store  of  meat.’* — Note  by  Chattertok 


THE  TARLYAMENTE  OF  SPRYTES.  291 

0 where  ys  the  manne  that  buylded  the  same, 
Dyspendynge  worldlie  store  so  welle  ; 

Fayn  woulde  I chaunge  wyth  hym  mie  name, 
And  stande  ynne  hys  chaunce  ne  to  goe  to 
helle. 

Spryte  of  Assyrians  syngeth. 

Whan  toe  theyre  caves  aeterne  abeste,^ 

The  waters  ne  moe  han  dystreste 
The  worlde  so  large 
Butte  dyde  dyscharge 
Themselves  ynto  theyre  bedde  of  reste. 

Then  menne  besprenged  alle  abroade, 

Ne  moe  dyde  worshyppe  the  true  Godde  ; 
Butte  dyd  create 
Hie  temples  greate 
Unto  the  ymage  of  Nymrodde. 

But  nowe  the  Worde  of  Godde  is  come, 
Borne  of  Maide  Marie  toe  brynge  home 
Mankynde  hys  shepe, 

Them  for  to  keepe 

In  the  folde  of  hys  heavenlie  kyngdome. 

Thys  chyrche  whych  Canynge  he  dyd  reer. 
To  bee  dispente  in  prayse  and  prayer, 

1 According  to  Kowley,  “Humbled,  or  brought  down.” 
And  Rowleie  saies  “ thie  pryde  wylle  be  abeste.”  Entro- 
iuctvon  to  the  Entj^rlude  of  the  Apostate. — Chattertojj. 


292 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Mennes  soules  to  save, 
From  vowrynge  grave, 
And  purjfye  them  heaven-were.^ 


Sprytes  of  Elle^^  Byihryehe^^  Fytz-hardynge^ 
Frampton,  Gauntes^  Segowen^  Lanyngeton^ 
Knyghtes^  Templars^  and  Byrtonne. 

(Bie  Rowleie.) 

Spryte  of  BytJirycke  speeJcetJi, 

File,  thie  Brystowe  is  thie  onlie  care. 

Thou  arte  lyke  dragonne  vyllant  of  yts  gode ; 

Ne  lovynge  dames  toe  kynde  moe  love  can  bear, 
Ne  Lombardes  over  golde  moe  vy Haunt  broode. 

Spryte  of  Bile  speeketh. 

Swythyn,  yee  sprytes  forsake  the  bollen  floude. 
And  browke  a sygthe  wyth  mee,  a syghte  enfyne ; 
Welle  have  I vended  myne  for  Danyshe  bloude, 

1 Heavenward. 

“ Not  goulde  or  bighes  will  bring  thee  heaven- were, 

Ne  kyne  or  mylkie  flockes  upon  the  playne, 

Ne  mannours  rych  nor  banners  brave  and  fayre, 

Ne  wife  the  sweetest  of  the  erthlie  trayne. 

“ Entroductyon  to  the  Enterlude  of  the  Apostate.” 
Note  by  Chatteuton. 

2 Keeper  of  Bristol  Castle  in  the  time  of  the  Saxons. 

8 An  Anglo-Saxon,  who  in  William  the  Conqueror’s  time 
Uad  Bristol.— Chatterton. 


THE  PARLYAMEXTE  OF  SPRYTES.  293 

Sjth  thys  greete  structure  greete  mie  whaped 
eyne. 

Yee  that  have  buylden  on  the  E-adclefte  syde, 
Tourne  there  your  eyne  and  see  your  workes 
outvyde. 

Spryte  of  Byihrycke  speoJceth, 

What  wondrous  monumente  ! what  pyle  ys  thys  ! 
That  byndes  in  wonders  chayne  entendeinente ! 
That  dothe  aloof  the  ayrie  skyen  kyss, 

And  seemeth  mountaynes  joyned  bie  cemente, 
From  Godde  hys  greete  and  wondrous  storehouse 
sente. 

Fulle  Welle  myne  eyne  arede  ytte  canne  ne  bee, 
That  manne  coulde  reare  of  thylke  agreete  ex- 
tente, 

A chyrche  so  bausyn  fetyve  as  wee  see : 

The  flemed  cloudes  disparted  from  it  flie, 

Twylle  bee,  I wis,  to  alle  eternytye. 

Ellens  spryte  speekeih. 

Were  I once  moe  caste  yn  a mortalle  frame. 

To  heare  the  chauntrie  songe  sounde  ynne  myne 
eare. 

To  heare  the  masses  to  owre  holie  dame. 

To  viewe  the  cross  yles  and  the  arches  fayre ! 
Throughe  the  halfe  hulstred  sylver  twynklynge 
glare 

Of  yon  bryghte  moone  in  foggie  mantles  dreste, 
r must  contente  the  buyld^mge  to  aspere. 


294 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Whjlste  isbad  cloudes  the  bailie  sjgbte  arreste. 
Tyll  as  the  nyghtes  growe  wayle  I flie  the  lygbte, 

0 were  I marine  agen  to  see  the  syghte  ! 

There  sytte  the  canons  ; clothe  of  sable  hue 
Adorne  the  boddies  of  them  everie  one  ; 

The  chaunters  whyte  with  scarfes  of  woden 
blewe, 

And  cry m son  chappeaus  for  them  toe  put  onne, 
Wythe  golden  tassyls  glyttrynge  ynne  the  sunne ; 
The  dames  ynne  kyrtles  alle  of  Lyncolne  greene, 
And  knotted  shoone  pykes  of  brave  coloures  done : 
A fyner  syghte  yn  sothe  was  never  seen. 

Byrtonnes  spryte  speeketh. 

Inne  tyltes  and  turnies  was  mie  dear  delyghte, 
For  manne  and  Godde  hys  warfare  han  renome  ; 
At  everyche  tyltynge  yarde  mie  name  was  hyghte, 

1 beare  the  belle  awaie  whereer  I come. 

Of  Redclefte  chyrche  the  buyldynge  newe  I done, 
And  dyd  fulle  manie  holie  place  endowe, 

Of  Maries  house  made  the  foundacyon, 

And  gave  threescore  markes  to  Johnes  hys  toe. 
Then  close’d  myne  eyne  on  erthe  to  ope  no  moe, 
Whylst  syx  moneths  mynde  upon  mie  grave  was 
doe. 

Full  gladde  am  I mie  chyrche  was  pyghten  down, 
Syth  thys  brave  structure  doth  agreete  myne  eye 
Thys  geason  buyldynge,  limedst  of  the  towne, 
Like  to  the  donours  soule,  shall  never  die ; 

But  if,  percase,  Tyme,  of  hys  dyre  envie. 


THE  PARLYAMENTE  OF  SPRYTES. 


295 


Slialle  beate  ytte  to  rude  walles  and  throckes  of 
stone ; 

The  fay  tour  traveller  that  passes  bie 
Wylie  see  yttes  royend  auntyaunte  splendoure 
shewne 

Inne  the  crasd  arches  and  the  carvellynge, 

And  pyllars  theyre  greene  heades  to  heaven 
rearynge. 

Spryte  of  Segowen  speeketh. 
Bestoykynge  golde  was  once  myne  onlie  toie, 
Wyth  ytte  mie  soule  wythynne  the  coffer  laie ; 
Itte  dyd  the  mastrie  of  mie  lyfe  enploie, 

Bie  nyghte  mie  leman  and  mie  jubbe  bie  daye. 
Once  as  I dosynge  yn  the  wytch  howre  laie, 
Thynkynge  ho  we  to  benym  the  orphyans  breadde, 
And  from  the  redeless  take  theyre  goodes  awaie, 

I from  the  skien  bear’d  a voyce,  which  said, 

Thou  sleepest,  but  loe  Sathan  is  awake  ; 

Some  deede  that’s  holie  doe,  or  hee  thie  soule 
wylle  take. 

I swythyn  was  upryst  wyth  feere  astounde  ; 
Methoughte  yn  merke  was  plaien  devylles  felle : 
Strayte  dyd  I nomber  twentie  aves  rounde, 
Thoughten  full  soone  for  to  go  to  helle. 

In  the  morne  mie  case  to  a goode  preeste  dyd 
telle. 

Who  dyd  areede  mee  to  ybuild  that  daie 
The  chyrche  of  Thomas,  thenne  to  pieces  felle. 


296 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


]\Iie  heart  dispanded  into  heaven  laie  : 

Soon  was  the  sylver  to  the  workmenne  giv^n, — 
'Twas  beste  astowde,  a karynte  gave  to  heaven. 

But  Welle,  I wote,  thie  causalles  were  not  soe, 
'Twas  love  of  Godde  that  set  thee  on  the 
rearynge 

Of  this  fayre  chyrch,  O Canynge,  for  to  doe 
Thys  lymed  buyldynge  of  so  fyne  appearynge  : 
Thys  chyrch  owre  lesser  buyldyngs  all  owt- 
daryinge, 

Lyke  to  the  moone  wythe  starves  of  lyttle 
lyghte ; 

Ana  after  tymes  the  feetyve  pyle  reverynge, 

The  prynce  of  chyrches  buylders  thee  shall 
hyghte ; 

Greete  was  the  cause,  but  greeter  was  the 
effecte. 

So  alle  wyll  sale  who  doe  thys  place  prospect. 

Spryte  of  Fytz  Hardynge  speeketh, 

F rom  royal  parentes  dyd  I have  retaynynge, 

The  redde-hayrde  Dane  confeste  to  be  mie  syre ; 
The  Dane  who  often  throwe  thys  kyngdom 
draynynge, 

Would  mark  theyre  waie  athrowgh  wythe  bloudo 
and  fyre. 

As  stopped  ryvers  alwaies  ryse  moe  liygher, 

And  rammed  stones  hie  opposures  stronger  bee ; 
So  thie  whan  vanquyshed  dyd  prove  moe  dyre, 


THE  PARLYAMENTE  OF  SPRYTES.  297 


And  for  one  peysan  tlieie  dyd  threescore  slee. 
From  them  of  Denmarqnes  royalle  blonde  came  I, 
Welle  inyghte  I boaste  of  mie  gentylytie. 

The  pypes  male  sounde  and  bubble  forth  mie 
name, 

And  tellen  what  on  Radclefte  syde  I dyd : 
Trinytie  Colledge  ne  agrutche  mie  fame, 

The  fay  rest  place  in  Brystowe  ybnylded. 

The  royalle  blonde  that  thorow  mie  vaynes 
slydde 

Dyd  tyncte  mie  harte  wythe  manie  a noble 
thoughte  ; 

T yke  to  mie  mynde  the  mynster  yreared, 

Wythe  noble  carvel  workmanshyppe  was  wroughte* 
Hie  at  the  deys,  lyke  to  a kynge  on’s  throne, 

Dyd  1 take  place  and  was  myself  alone. 

But  thou,  the  buylder  of  this  swotie  place, 

Where  alle  the  saynctes  in  sweete  ajunctyon 
stande, 

A verie  heaven  for  yttes  fetyve  grace. 

The  glorie  and  the  wonder  of  the  lande. 

That  shewes  the  buylders  mynde  and  fourmers 
hande. 

To  bee  the  beste  that  on  the  erthe  remaynes  ; 

At  once  for  wonder  and  delyghte  commaunde, 
Shewynge  howe  muche  hee  of  the  godde  reteynes. 
Canynge  the  great,  the  chary  table,  and  good, 
Noble  as  kynges  if  not  of  kyngelie  blonde. 


298 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Spryte  of  Framptone  speeketh, 

Biy Stowe  shall  speeke  mie  name,  and  Radclefte 
toe, 

For  here  mie  deedes  were  goddelje  everychone  : 
As  Owdens  mynster  hie  the  gate  wylle  she  we. 
And  Johnes  at  Brystowe  what  mie  workes  lian 
done. 

Besydes  anere  howse  that  I han  begunne  ; 

Butte  myne  comparde  to  thyssen  ys  a groffe  ; 
Nete  to  bee  mencioned  or  looked  upon, 

A verie  punelstre  or  verie  scofFe  ; 

Canynge,  thie  name  shall  lyven  be  for  aie, 

Thie  name  ne  wyth  the  chyrche  shall  waste 
awaie. 


Spryte  of  Gaunts  speeketh. 

I dyd  fulle  manie  reparatyons  give. 

And  the  bonne  Hommes  dyd  fulle  ryche  endowe ; 
As  tourynge  to  mie  Godde  on  erthe  dyd  lyve. 

So  alle  the  Brystowe  chronycles  wylle  shewe. 
Butte  alle  mie  deedes  wylle  bee  as  nothynge 
nowe, 

Syth  Canynge  have  thys  buyldynge  fynyshed, 
Whych  seemeth  to  be  the  pryde  of  Brystowe, 
And  hie  ne  buyldeyng  to  bee  overmatched  : 

Why  die  aie  shalle  laste  and  bee  the  prayse  of 
alle. 

And  onlie  in  the  wrecke  of  nature  falle. 


Po  ?.  p 
7 f 


r o?.r 


a 3 


THE  PARLYAMENTE  OF  SPRYTES.  299 


A KnygJite  Templars  spryte  speeketh. 

In  hallie  land  where  Sarasins  defyle 
The  grounde  whereon  oure  Savyour  dyd  goe, 
And  Chryste  hys  temple  make  to  moschyes 
vyle, 

Wordies  of  despy te  genst  oure  Savyour  throwe. 
There  ’twas  that  we  dyd  owre  warfarage  doe, 
Guardynge  the  pylgryms  of  the  Chrystyan  faie ; 
And  dyd  owre  holie  armes  in  bloude  embrue, 
Movynge  lyke  thonder-boultes  yn  drear  arraie. 
Owre  strokes  lyke  levyn  tareynge  the  tall  tree 
Owre  Godde  owre  arme  wyth  lethalle  force  dyd 
dree. 

Maint  tenures  fayre,  ande  mannoures  of  greete 
welthe, 

Greene  woodes,  and  brooklettes  runnynge  throughe 
the  lee, 

Dyd  menne  us  gyve  for  theyre  deare  soule  her 
helthe. 

Gave  erthlie  ryches  for  goodes  heavenlie. 

Nee  dyd  we  lette  oure  ryches  untyle  bee. 

But  dyd  ybuylde  the  Temple  chyrche  so  fyne. 
The  whyche  ys  wroughte  abowte  so  bismarelie ; 
Itte  seemeth  camoys  to  the  wondrynge  eyne  ; 

And  ever  and  anon  when  belles  rynged. 

From  place  to  place  ytte  moveth  yttes  hie 
heade : 

Butte  Canynge  from  the  sweate  of  hys  owne  browes, 
Dyd  gette  hys  golde  and  rayse  thys  fetyve  howse. 


300 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Lamyngeionnes  spryte  speeketh, 

Lette  alle  mie  faultes  bee  buried  jnne  the  grave ; 
Alle  obloquyes  be  rotted  wythe  mie  duste ; 

Lette  him  fyrst  carpen  that  no  wemmes  have : 
’Tys  paste  mannes  nature  for  to  bee  aie  juste. 

But  yette  in  sothen  to  rejoyce  I muste, 

That  I dyd  not  immeddle  for  to  buylde ; 

Sythe  thys  quaintissed  place  so  gloryous, 
Seemeynge  alle  chyrches  joyned  yn  one  guylde, 
Has  nowe  supplied  for  what  I had  done, 

Whych  toe  mie  cierge  is  a gloryous  sonne. 

Ellens  spryte  speeketh. 

Then  lette  us  alle  do  jyntelie  reveraunce  here, 
The  beste  of  menne  and  Byshoppes  here  doe 
stande : 

Who  are  Goddes  shepsterres  and  do  take  good 
care, 

Of  the  goode  shepe  hee  putteth  yn  theyre  hand  ; 
Ne  one  is  loste  butte  alle  in  well  likande 
Awayte  to  heare  the  Generalle  Byshoppes  calle. 
When  Mychaels  trompe  shall  sound  to  ynmoste 
lande, 

Affryghte  the  wycked  and  awaken  alle  : 

Then  Canynge  ryses  to  eternal  reste, 

4nd  fyndtis  hee  chose  on  erthe  a lyfe  the  beste. 


ON  THE  MYNSTER.i 


Wythe  daityve  steppe  relygyon  dyghte  yn  greie, 
Her  face  of  doleful  hue, 

Swyfte  as  a takel  throVe  bryghte  heav’n  tooke 
her  waie, 

And  ofte  and  ere  anon  dyd  sale 
“ Aie  ! mee  ! what  shall  I doe ; 

“ See  Brystoe  citie,  whyche  I nowe  doe  kenne, 

“ Arysynge  to  mie  view, 

“ Thy  eke  throng’d  wythe  soldyers  and  wythe 
traffyekmenne ; 

Butte  saynctes  I seen  few.” 

1 This  poem  is  reprinted  from  Barrett’s  History  of  Bristol. 
It  is  said  by  Chatterton  to  be  translated  by  Rowley,  “ as  nie 
as  Englyshe  wyll  serve,  from  the  original,  written  by  Abbot 
John,  who  was  ynductyd  20  yeares,  and  dyd  act  as  abbatt  9 
yeares  before  hys  inductyon  for  Phillip  then  abbatt : he  dyed 
yn  M.cc.xv.  beynge  buryed  in  his  albe  in  the  mynster.’* — 
Southey’s  Edition  of  Chatterton. 

John,  seconde  abbotte  of  Seyncte  Augustynns,  was  a 
manne  well  skyllde  ynn  the  languages  of  yore ; hee  wrote 
vnn  the  Greke  tonge  a poem  onne  Roberte  Fitz  Hardynge, 
whyche  as  nie  as  Englyshe  wylle  serve  I have  thus  trans- 
placedd: 

“ Wythe  daityve  steppe  relygyon  dyghte  yn  greie. 

Her  face  of  doleful  hue,”  &c. 

As  above. — Rowley’s  History  of  Painters  and  CarveUers. 


302 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Fjtz-Hardynge  rose ! — he  rose  lyke  bryghte  sonne 
in  the  morne, 

“ Faire  dame  adryne  thein  eyne, 

“ Let  alle  thie  greefe  bee  myne, 

For  I wylle  rere  thee  uppe  a Mynster  hie  ; 

“ The  toppe  whereof  shall  reach  ynto  the  skie ; 

“ And  wylle  a monke  be  shorn  e ; ” 

Thenne  dyd  the  dame  replie, 

I shall  ne  be  foreloume  ; 

“ Here  wyll  I take  a cherysaunied  resle, 

“ And  spend  mie  dales  upon  Fytz-Hardynges 
breste.” 


THE  WORLDE. 


PADRE,  SONNE,  AND  MYNSTRELLES. 

FADRE. 

To  the  worlde  newe  and  ytts  bestoykenynge  waio 

Thys  coistrelle  sonne  of  myne  ys  all  mie  care, 

Yee  mynstrelles  warne  hymme  how  wyth  rede  he 
straie 

Where  guylded  vyce  dothe  spredde  hys  mascilfd 
snare. 

To  gettyng  wealth  I woulde  hee  shoulde  bee 
bredde. 

And  couronnes  of  rudde  goulde  ne  glorie  rounde 
hys  hedde. 


FIRST  MYNSTREL. 

Mie  name  is  Intereste,  tis  I 
Dothe  yntoe  aUe  bosoms  hie, 

Eche  one  hylten  secret’s  myne, 
None  so  wordie,  goode,  and  dygne, 
Butte  wyll  fynde  ytte  to  theyr  cost, 
Intereste  wyll  rule  the  roaste. 

I to  everichone  gyve  lawes, 

Selfe  ys  fyrst  yn  everich  cause. 


304 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


SECOND  MYNSTKEL. 

I amme  a fay  tour  flame 
Of  lemmies  melancboli, 

Love  somme  behyghte  mie  name, 

Some  doe  anemp  me  follie ; 

Inne  sprytes  of  meltynge  molde 
I sette  mie  burneynge  sele  ; 

To  mee  a goulers  goulde 
Doeth  nete  a pyne  avele  ; 

I pre  upon  the  heltlie, 

And  from  gode  redeynge  flee, 

The  manne  who  woulde  gette  wealthe 
Muste  never  thynke  of  mee. 

THIRD  MYNSTREL. 

[ bee  the  Queede  of  Pryde,  mie  spyrynge  heade 
Mote  reche  the  cloudes  and  stylle  be  rysynge  hie, 
Too  lyttle  is  the  earthe  to  bee  mie  bedde, 

Too  hannow  for  mie  breetheynge  place  the  skie  ; 
Daynous  I see  the  worlde  bineth  me  lie 
Botte  to  mie  betterres,  I soe  lyttle  gree, 

Annenthe  a shadow  of  a shade  I bee, 

Tys  to  the  smalle  alleyn  that  I canne  multyplie. 

FOURTH  MYNSTREL. 

I am  the  Queed  of  goulers  ; look  arounde 
The  ayrs  aboute  mee  thieves  doe  represente, 
Bloudsteyned  robbers  spryng  from  oute  the 
grounde. 


THE  WORLDE. 


305 


And  airie  vjsjons  swarme  around  mie  ente ; 

0 save  mie  monies,  ytte  js  theyre  entente 

To  nymme  the  redde  Godde  of  mie  .fremded 
sprighte, 

Whatte  joie  canne  goulers  have  or  daie  or  nyghte ! 

FIFTH  MYNSTREL. 

Vice  bee  I hyghte,  onne  golde  fulle  ofte  I 
ryde, 

Fulle  fayre  unto  the  syghte  for  aie  I seeme  ; 

Mie  ugsomness  wythe  goldenne  veyles  I hyde, 

Laieynge  mie  lovers  ynne  a sylkenne  drerae ; 

Botte  whan  mie  untrue  pleasaunce  have  byn 
tryde, 

Thanne  doe  I showe  alle  horrownesse  and  rou. 

And  those  I have  ynne  nette  woulde  feyne  mie 
grype  eschew. 

SIXTH  MYNSTREL. 

1 bee  greete  Dethe,  alle  ken  mee  bie  the 

name, 

Botte  none  can  saie  howe  I doe  loose  the 
spryghte, 

Goode  menne  mie  tardyinge  delaie  doethe 
blame, 

Botte  moste  ryche  goulerres  from  mee  take  a 
flyghte ; 

Myckle  of  wealthe  1 see  whereere  I came, 

Doethe  mie  ghastness  mockle  multyplye 

And  maketh  hem  afrayde  to  lyve  or  die. 

VOL.  II.  20 


306 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


FADRE. 

Howe  villeyn  Mynstrelles,  and  is  this  your 
rede. 

Awaie : Awaie  : I wyll  ne  geve  a curse, 

Mie  sonne,  mie  sonne,  of  mie  speeche  take 
hede, 

Nothynge  ys  goode  thatte  bryngeth  not  to 
purse. 


ONE  CANTO  OF  AN  ANCIENT  POEM,  CALLED 


THE  UNKNOWN  KNIGHT  OR  THE  TOUR 
NAMENT.i 

I. 

The  Matten  belle  ban  sounded  long, 

The  Cocks  han  sang  their  morning  songe, 
When  lo  ! the  tuneful  Clarions  sound, 
(Wherein  all  other  noise  was  drown’d) 

Did  echo  to  the  rooms  around. 

And  greet  the  ears  of  Champyons  stronge  ; 

Arise,  arise  from  downie  bedde 

For  Sunne  doth  gin  to  shew  his  hedde  ! 

II. 

Then  each  did  don  in  seemlie  gear. 

What  armour  eche  beseem’d  to  wear, 

And  on  each  sheelde  devices  shone, 

Of  wounded  hearts  and  battles  won. 

All  curious  and  nice  echon ; 

With  manie  a tassild  spear ; 


1 From  the  Supplement  to  Chatterton’s  Miscellanies.  **  I 
offered  this  as  a sample,  having  two  more  Cantos.  The 
Author  unknown.”  1769. — Southey’s  Edition, 


308 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


And  mounted  echeone  on  a steed 
Unwoto  made  Ladies  hearts  to  blede. 

III. 

Heraulds  eche  side  the  Clarions  wound, 

The  Horses  started  at  the  sound ; 

The  Knyghtes  echeone  dyd  poynt  the  launce, 
And  to  the  combattes  did  advaunce; 

From  Hyberne,  Scotland,  eke  from  Fraunce ; 
Theyre  prancyng  horses  tare  the  ground ; 

All  strove  to  reche  the  place  of  fyghte, 

The  first  to  exercise  their  myghte — 

IV. 

O’Rocke  upon  his  courser  fleet, 

Swift  as  lightning  were  his  feet, 

First  gain’d  the  lists  and  gatte  him  fame  ; 
From  West  Hybernee  Isle  he  came. 

His  myghte  depictur’d  in  his  name.^ 

All  dreded  such  an  one  to  meet ; 

Bold  as  a mountain  wolf  he  stood. 

Upon  his  swerde  sat  grim  dethe  and  bloude. 


V. 

But  when  he  threwe  downe  his  Asenglave, 
Next  came  in  Syr  Botelier  bold  and  brave. 
The  dethe  of  manie  a Saraceen ; 

Tlieie  thought  him  a Devil  from  Hells  black  den, 


I Probably  alluding  to  the  word  ‘ rock.* 


THE  UNKNOWN  KNIGHT. 


309 


Ne  thinking  that  anie  of  mortalle  menne 
Could  send  so  manie  to  the  grave. 

For  his  life  to  John  Rumsee  he  render’d  his 
thanks 

Descended  from  Godred  the  King  of  the  Manks. 


VI. 

Within  his  sure  rest  he  settled  his  speare, 

And  ran  at  O’Rocke  in  full  career  5 
Their  launces  with  the  furious  stroke 
Into  a thousand  shivers  broke, 

Even  as  the  thunder  tears  the  oak, 

And  scatters  splinters  here  and  there : 

So  great  the  shock,  their  senses  did  depart. 

The  bloude  all  ran  to  strengthen  up  the  harte. 

VII. 

Syr  Botelier  Rumsie  first  came  from  his  traunce, 
And  from  the  Marshall  toke  the  launce ; 
O’Rocke  eke  chose  another  speere. 

And  ran  at  Syr  Botelier  [in]  full  career ; 

His  prancynge  stede  the  ground  did  tare ; 

In  haste  he  made  a false  advance ; 

Syr  Botelier  seeing,  with  myghte  amain 
Fellde  him  down  upon  the  playne. 

vm. 

Syr  Pigotte  Novlin  at  the  Clarions  sound, 

On  a milk-white  stede  with  gold  trappings 
around, 


310 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


He  couchde  in  his  rest  his  silver-poynt  speere. 
And  ferslie  ranne  up  in  full  career ; 

But  for  his  appearance  he  payed  full  deare, 

In  the  first  course  laid  on  the  ground  ; 
Besmeer’d  in  the  dust  with  his  silver  and 
gold, 

No  longer  a glorious  sight  to  behold. 

IX. 

Syr  BoteHer  then  having  conquer’d  his  twayne, 
Rode  Conqueror  off  the  tourneying  playne  ; 
Receivying  a garland  from  Alice's  hand. 

The  fayrest  Ladye  in  the  lande. 

Syr  Pigotte  this  viewed,  and  furious  did  stand, 
Tormented  in  mind  and  bodily  peyne, 

Syr  Botelier  crown’d,  most  galantlie  stode, 

As  some  tall  oak  within  the  thick  wode. 


X. 

Awhile  the  shrill  Clarions  sounded  the  word ; 
Next  rode  in  Syr  John,  of  Adderleigh  Lord, 
Who  over  his  back  his  thick  shield  did  bryng, 
In  checkee  of  redde  and  silver  sheeninge, 

With  steede  and  gold  trappings  beseeming  a 
King, 

A guilded  fine  Adder  twyned  round  his 
swerde. 

De  Bretville  advanced,  a man  of  great  myghte, 
And  couched  his  launce  in  his  rest  for  the 
fyghte. 


THE  UNKNOWN  KNIGHT^ 


311 


XI. 

Ferse  as  the  falling  waters  of  the  lough, 

That  tumble  headlonge  from  the  mountain’s 
browe, 

Ev’n  so  they  met  in  drierie  sound, 

De  Bretville  fell  upon  the  ground, 

The  bloude  from  inward  bruised  wound, 

Did  out  his  stained  helmet  flowe  : 

As  some  tall  bark  upon  the  foamie  main. 

So  laie  De  Bretville  on  the  plain. 

XII. 

Syr  John  of  the  Dale  or  Compton  bight. 
Advanced  next  in  lists  of  fyght. 

He  knew  the  tricks  of  tourneyinge  full  well. 

In  running  race  ne  manne  culd  him  excell, 

Or  how  to  wielde  a sworde  better  tel. 

And  eke  he  was  a manne  of  might : 

On  a black  Stede  with  silver  trappynges 
dyght 

He  darde  the  dangers  of  the  tourneyd  fighte. 

XIII. 

Witliin  their  rests  their  speeres  they  set, 

So  furiously  ech  other  met. 

That  Compton’s  well  intended  speere 
Syr  John  his  shield  in  pieces  tare, 

And  wound  his  hand  in  furious  geir  ; 

Syr  Johns  stele  Assenglave  was  wette  : 


312 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Syr  Jolm  then  toe  the  marshal  turn’d, 
His  breast  with  meekle  furie  burn’d. 

XIV. 

The  tenders  of  the  feelde  came  in, 

And  bade  the  Champyons  not  begyn  ; 
Echo  tourney  but  one  hour  should  last, 
And  then  one  hour  was  gone  and  past. 


THE  FREERE  OF  ORDERYS  WHYTE.i 


There  was  a Broder  of  Orderys  Whyte, 

Hee  songe  hys  masses  yn  the  nyghte ; 

Ave  Maria,  Jesu  Maria. 

The  nonnes  al  slepeynge  yn  the  Dortoure, 
Thoughte  hym  of  al  syngeynge  Freers  the 
Flowre. 

Ave  Maria,  Jesu  Maria. 

Suster  Agnes  looved  his  syngeynge  well. 

And  songe  with  hem  too  the  sothen  to  tell ; 
Ave  Maria,  &c. 

But  be  ytte  ne  sed  bie  Elde  or  yynge 
That  ever  dheye  oderwyse  dyd  synge 
Than  Ave  Maria,  &c. 

This  Broder  was  called  evrich  wheere 
To  Kenshamm  and  to  Bristol  Nonnere  ; 

Ave  Maria,  &c. 

* From  a MSS.  by  Chatterton  in  the  British  Museum. 
There  is  also  the  beginning  of  a poem  called  “ the  Freere  of 
Orderys  Black,”  which  is  unfit  for  publication. — Southey’s 
Edition 


314 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Botte  seyynge  of  masses  dyd  wurch  hym 
lowe, 

Above  hys  Skynne  hys  Bonys  did  growe. 
Ave  Maria,  &c. 

He  eaten  Beefe  ande  Dysbes  of  Mows,^ 
And  hontend  everych  Knyghtys  House 
With  Ave  Maria,  &c. 

And  beynge  ance  moe  in  gode  lyken. 

He  songe  to  the  Nones  and  was  poreii  agen 
With  Ave  Maria,  &c. 


^ Probably  a preparation  of  boiled  com. 


DIALOGUE. 


BETWEEN  MAISTER  PHILPOT  AND  WALWORTH 
COCKNEIES.^ 

PHILPOT. 

God  ye  God  den,  my  good  naighbour,  howe  d ye 
ayle  ? 

How  does  your  wyfe,  man  ! what  never  assole 
Cum  rectitate  vivas,  verborum  mala  ne  cures. 

1 From  Dean  Milles’s  Edition  of  Rowley.  “It  contains,” 
says  the  Dean,  “ a variety  of  evidence,  tending  to  confirm 
the  authenticity  of  these  poems.  In  the  first  place,  this  sort 
of  macaronic  verse  of  mixed  languages,  is  a style  used  in  the 
fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries.  Dante  has  some  of  these 
amongst  his  Rime,  (p.  226,  vol.  2.  Venice,  1741,)  which  are 
composed  of  French,  Italian,  and  Latin,  and  conclude  thus: 
‘ Namque  locutus  sum  in  lingua  trina.’ 

Skelton,  who  lived  not  long  after  Rowley,  has  also  poems  in 
the  same  kind  of  verse.  Secondly,  the  correctness  of  the 
Latin,  and  the  propriety  of  the  answers  in  English,  show  it  to 
have  been  written  at  least  by  a better  scholar  than  Chat- 
terton.  Thirdly,  the  low  humour  of  the  dialogue,  although 
suited  to  the  taste  of  that  early  and  illiterate  age,  could  be 
VO  object  of  imitation  to  a modem  poet.  But  it  is  a most 
remarkable  circumstance,  that  he  has  introduced  his  two 
Cockneies  under  the  names  of  two  most  respectable  aldermen 


316 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


WALWORTH. 

Ah,  Mastre  Phyllepot,  evil  tongues  do  saie, 

That  mj  wyfe  will  lyen  down  to  dale : 

Tis  ne  twaine  moneths  syth  shee  was  myne  for 
aie. 

PHILPOT. 

Animum  submittere  noli  rebus  in  adversis, 

Nolito  qu80dam  referent!  semper  credere. 

But  I pity  you  nayghbour,  is  it  so  ? 

WALWORTH. 

Quae  requirit  misericordiam  mala  causa  est, 

Alack,  alack,  a sad  dome  mine  in  fay, 

But  oft  with  cityzens  it  is  the  case ; 

Honesta  turpitude  pro  bona 

Causa  mori,  as  auntient  pensmen  sayse.^ 

of  the  city  of  London,  who  lived  about  the  year  1380,  Sir 
William  Walworth  and  Sir  John  Philpot;  men  of  such  dis- 
tinguished reputation,  not  only  in  their  own  city,  but  also  in 
the  whole  kingdom,  that  the  first  parliament  of  Richard  the 
Second,  in  granting  a subsidy  to  that  king,  made  it  subject  to 
the  control  and  management  of  these  two  citizens.”  (Wal- 
singham,  p.  200.  Rapin,  vol.  i.  pp.  454  and  458.) 

1 Mr.  Bryant’s  next  argument  is  drawn  from  “ the  many 
Latin  quotations  in  the  story  of  John  Lamington,”  and  he 
says  that  “ none  of  these  quotations  were  obvious,  and  such 
as  a boy  could  attain  to.”  And  I can  easily  believe  that  they 
were  not  obvious  to  Mr.  Bryant,  whose  studies  we  know  have 
generally  travelled  a higher  road;  but  I can  say, with  truth, 
that  I found  them  in  the  very  first  book  in  which  I looked 
ibr  them.  The  three  former  are  transposed  out  of  CaUfs 
Oishchs^  and  the  two  other  out  of  the  Sentences  of  Publius 


DIALOGUE,  &C. 


317 


PHILPOT. 

Home  news  welle  let  alone  and  latyn  too. 

For  mee  a memorie  doth  ’gin  to  fayle ; 

Siprus  usually  subjoined  to  the  Distichs  in  a little  volume, 
which,  in  many  small  schools,  I believe,  is  still  the  first  that 
is  put  into  the  hands  of  learners  of  Latin  after  the  Gram- 
mar. They  stand  thus  in  an  edition  by  Boxhornius,  L.  Bat. 
1636. 

Cato,  Lib.  III.  Dist.  4. 

Quum  recte  vivas,  ne  cures  verba  malorum. 

— Lib.  II.  Dist.  26. 

Rebus  in  adversis  animum  submittere  noli. 

— Lib.  II.  Dist.  21. 

Noli  tu  quaedam  referenti  credere  semper. 

Syrus,  Sentent  Iamb.  p.  119. 

Mala  causa  est  quas  requirit  misericordiam. 

Sentent.  Troch.  v.  3. 

Est  honesta  turpitude  pro  bona  causa  mori. 

In  Chatterton’s  transcript  of  this  last  line  he  had  origi- 
nally inserted  est  after  turpitudo;  and  he  had  written  ftoway, 
(to  rhyme,  I suppose,  more  exactly  to  fay.)  The  blunders  in 
the  first  line  of  reciate  for  reciCj  and  of  verborum  mala  for 
verba  malorum^  seem  to  show  that  he  wrote  from  memory. 
They  must  have  been  overlooked,  I presume,  by  the  Dean 
of  Exeter,  who  considers  all  these  passages,  not  as  quotations, 
but  as  original  compositions,  and  argues,  in  part,  “yVom  the 
correctness  of  the  Latin^  that  they  must  have  been  written  at 
least  by  a better  Scholar  than  Chatterton.”  It  appears,  from 
the  testimony  of  Mr.  Smith,  that  Chatterton  had  intimated 
very  frequently  both  a desire  to  learn,  and  a design  to  teach 
himself  Latin;  and  though  I do  not  suppose  that  he  ever 
made  any  great  progress  in  that  language,  I really  think  that 
he  might  have  attained  to  these  quotations.  With  respect  to 
their  pertinency^  and  their  not  being  idly  and  ostentatiously  in- 
troducedy  it  is  scarce  credible,  I think,  that  sucli  a medley 


318 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Sale,  Master  Walworth,  what  gode  newes  have 
you, 

Praia  have  you  herdeen  of  the  stouns  of  hayle  ? 

WALWORTH. 

I have,  and  that  ytte  with  reddour  did  sayle. 

Some  heutstones  were  lyke  cheryes  rege  and 
grete. 

And  to  the  grownde  there  did  the  trees  preveyle. 
But  goodmanne  Philpotte  what  dye  you  ahete 
Bowte  goods  of  Laymingtone,  nowe  holde  by 
you 

For  certaine  monies  store  to  you  for  chattels  due  ? 

PHILPOT. 

Ah,  I have  nymd  him  specyal,  for  his  wine 
Have  ta’en  attons  twelve  pounds,  for  dayntye 
cheer. 

Though  the  same  time  mie  wyfe  with  hym  dyd 
dyne. 

Been  payd  a mark — non-extra  of  the  beer  ; 

But  when  hys  synkynge  purse  did  ’gin  to  wear 
I lent  hym  full  syx  markes  upon  hys  faie. 

And  hee  poore  Custrols,  havynge  note  to  spere 
Favor’d  a cleere  and  now  doth  runne  awaie, 

of  quotations,  from  such  a book,  should  have  been  huddled 
together  in  such  a dialogue  by  any  one  but  a boy,  who  was 
proud  of  displaying  the  little  Latin  which  he  had  just  ac- 
quired. So  much  for  the  words  which  Chatterton  is  sup 
posed  to  have  been  incapable  of  understanding  — Tyrwhiti 


DIALOGUE,  &C.  319 

Hys  goodes  I downe  at  Bristowe  towne  wyll 
selle, 

For  which  I will  get  forty  shenynge  marks  fuU 
well. 

WALWORTH. 

Tyde  lyfe,  tyde  death,  I wyll  withe  thee  go 
downe, 

And  selle  some  goods  too  yn  brave  Brystowe 
towne.^ 

1 This  poem  in  Dean  Milles’s,  and  in  Southey  and  Cottle’s 
Editions,  is  made  to  end  at  the  words  “ as  auntient  pensmen 
sayse.”  For  the  remainder — now  for  the  first  time  published 
in  a collection  of  Chatterton’s  works, — the  public  are  in- 
debted to  Richard  Smith,  Esq.,  of  Bristol.  (See  appendix  to 
the  Rowley  Poems.)  I have  elsewhere  acknowledged  the 
favour  of  much  valuable  assistance  rendered  me  by  that 
gentleman. 


THE  MERRIE  TRICKS  OF  LAMYNGE- 
TOWNE. 


BY  MAISTRE  JOHN  A ISCAM. 

A RYGOUROUS  doome  is  myne,  upon  mie  faie : 
Before  the  parent  starre,  the  lyghtsome  sonne, 
Hath  three  tymes  lyghted  up  the  cheerful  daie, 
To  other  reaulmes  must  Laymingtonne  be  gonne, 
Or  else  my  flymsie  thredde  of  lyfe  is  spunne  ; 
And  shall  1 hearken  to  a cowarts  reede, 

And  from  so  vain  a shade,  as  lyfe  is,  runne  ? 

No ! flie  all  thoughtes  of  runynge  to  the  Queed ; 
No  ! here  I’ll  stale,  and  let  the  Cockneies  see. 
That  Laymyntone  the  brave,  will  Laymyngetowne 
still  be. 

To  fyght,  and  not  to  flee,  my  sabatans 
I’ll  don,  and  girth  my  swerde  unto  my  syde ; 

I’ll  go  to  ship,  but  not  to  foreyne  landes. 

But  act  the  pyrate,  rob  in  every  tyde  ; 

With  Cockneies  bloude  Thamysis  shall  be  dyde, 
Theire  goodes  in  Bristowe  markette  shall  be  solde, 
My  bark  the  laverd  of  the  waters  ryde. 

Her  sayles  of  scarlette  and  her  stere  of  golde  ; 


TRICKS  OF  lamyngf:towne. 


321 


My  men  the  Saxonnes,  I the  Hengyst  bee, 

And  in  my  shyppe  combyne  the  force  of  all  their 
three. 

Go  to  my  trustie  menne  in  Selwoods  chace, 

That  through  the  lessel  hunt  the  burled  boare, 
Tell  them  how  standes  with  me  the  present  case, 
And  bydde  them  revel  down  at  Watchets  shore, 
And  saunt  about  in  hawlkes  and  woods  no  more ; 
Let  every  auntrous  knyghte  his  armour  brase, 
Their  meats  be  mans  fleshe,  and  theyre  beverage 
gore,  ^ 

Hancele,  or  Hanceled,  from  the  human  race ; 

Bid  them,  like  mee  theyre  leeder,  shape  theyre 
mynde 

To  be  a bloudie  foe  in  armes,  gaynst  all  mankynde. 

RALPH. 

I go  my  boon  companions  for  to  fynde. 

Ralph  goes  out. 


LAMYNGETOWNE. 

UnfaifuU  Cockneies  dogs  ! your  god  is  gayne. 
When  in  your  towne  I spent  my  greete  estate, 
What  crowdes  of  citts  came  flockynge  to  my 
traine. 

What  shoals  of  tradesmenne  eaten  from  my  plate, 
My  name  was  alwaies  Laymyngeton  the  greate ; 
But  whan  my  wealth  was  gone,  ye  kennd  me  not, 
[ stoode  in  warde,  ye  laughed  at  mie  fate, 

VOL.  IT.  21 


322 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Nor  car’d  if  Laymyngeton  tlie  great  did  rotte  ; 
But  know  ye,  curriedowes,  ye  shall  soon  feele, 
Fve  got  experience  now,  altho’  I bought  it  weele. 

You  let  me  know  that  all  the  worlde  are  knaves, 
That  lordes  and  cits  are  robbers  in  disguise  ; 

I and  my  men,  the  Cockneies  of  the  waves. 

Will  profitte  by  youre  lessons  and  bee  wise ; 
Make  you  give  back  the  harvest  of  youre  lies ; 

F rom  deep  fraught  barques  I’le  take  the  mysers 
soul. 

Make  all  the  wealthe  of  eyery  [man]  my  prize. 
And  cheating  Londons  pryde  to  Dygner  Bristowe 
rolle. 


LAMINGSTONE,  PHILPOTT,  AND  ROBYNNE. 
LAMINGSTONE. 

Thou  saiest  manne  that  thou  wouldst  goe  with 
mee, 

And  bare  a parte  in  all  mie  mennes  empryze, 
Thinke  well  upon  the  daungers  of  the  sea 
And  ghess  if  that  wyll  no  thee  recradize. 

When  throwghe  the  skies  the  levyn-brondie  flies, 
And  levyns  sparkel  in  the  whited  oundes 
Seemynge  to  ryse  at  lepestones  to  the  skies. 

And  no  contented  bee  with  its  sette  bounds. 
Then  rolles  the  barque  and  tosses  too  and  fro, 


TRICKS  OF  LAMYNGETOWNE. 


323 


Sike  drearie  scenes  as  tliys  will  caste  thie  blonde 
, I trowe. 

Tliynke,  when  wyth  bloudie  axes  in  our  handes 
We  are  to  fyghte  for  goulde  and  sylver  to. 

On  neighbours  myndbruch  lyfe  no  one  then 
standes, 

But  all  his  ayme  and  end  is  to  death’s  doo. 

ROBYNNE. 

I’ve  thowghte  on  alle  and  am  resolved  to  goe, 
Fortune,  no  more  I’ll  bee  thie  taunted  slave, 
Once  I was  greete,  nowe  plans’d  in  wante  and  woe. 
I’ll  goo  and  bee  a pick-hatch  of  the  wave ; 
Goodes  I have  none,  and  lyfe  I do  disdayne. 

I’ll  be  a victoar,  or  I’ll  break  mie  gallynge 
chayne. 

I’ll  washe  mie  handes  in  blonde  and  dele  in  dethe, 
Our  shippe  shall  blowe  alonge  with  windes  of 
dyinge  breth. 

LAMINGSTONE. 

I like  thy  courage,  and  I’ll  tell  thy  doome, 

Thou  wilt  unyere  a brave  captaine  bee, 

Goe  thou  to  Brystowe,  stale  untyll  wee  come. 

For  there  we  shall  happlie  have  neede  of  thee, 
And  for  a thight  and  shapelie  warehouse  see 
Whareen  to  put  the  chattels  we  shall  brynge, 
And  know  if  there  two  Cocknie  knaves  may  bee 
Phillpot  and  Walworth,  soe  reporte  doth  sj  nge. 
If  soe  I’ll  trounce  the  gouler  bie  mie  faie. 


324 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


There’s  monies  maun  for  thee — Ralph  ! take  the 
things  awaie 

Which  we  from  Watchetts  towne  have  taken  no  we, 
Yn  the  barque’s  bottom  see  thee  same  you  stowe. 

RALPH. 

Mastre  of  myne,  I go  as  you  do  saie. 

ROBYNKE. 

And  I to  Brystowe  town  will  haste  awaie.^ 

1 The  remainder  of  this  poem,  from  the  line — 

* And  cheating  London’s  pryde  to  Dygner  Bristowe  rolle,’ 
is  now  for  the  first  time  included  in  a collected  edition  of 
Chatterton’s  Works.  It  is  taken  from  Mr.  Smith’s  MS.,  and 
was  never  printed  till  1838.  ( See  appendix  to  Rowley  Poems.) 


SONGE 


OF  SETNCTE  BALDYWYNNE.' 

Whann  Norrurs  end  hys  menne  of  myghte, 
Uponne  thys  brydge  darde  all  io  fygbte, 
Forslagenn  manie  warriours  laie, 

And  Dacyanns  well  nie  wonne  the  dale. 
Whanne  doughty  Baldwinus  arose, 

And  scatterd  deathe  amonge  hys  foes, 

Fromme  out  the  brydge  the  purlinge  bloode 
Embolled  hie  the  runnynge  floude. 

Dethe  dydd  uponne  hys  anlace  hange, 

And  all  hys  arms  were  gutte  de  sangue,^ 

His  dough tinesse  wrought  thilk  dismay e, 

The  foreign  warriors  ranne  awaie, 

Erie  Baldwynus  regardedd  well. 

How  manie  menu  forslaggen  fell ; 

To  Heaven  lyft  oppe  hys  holie  eye, 

And  thanked  Godd  for  victorye  ; 

Thenne  threw  hys  anlance  ynn  the  tyde, 

Lyvdd  ynn  a cell,  and  hermytte  died. 

• According  to  Chatterton,  this  and  the  following  poem 
were  snng  when  the  Bridge  at  Bristol  was  completed  in 
1247. 

2 Drops  of  blood;  an  neraldic  allusion,  suitable  to  the 
genius  of  that  age. — Chatterton. 


SONGE 


OF  SEYNCTE  WARBURGHE. 

I. 

Whanne  Kynge  Kynghill  ynn  hys  honde 
Helde  the  sceptre  of  thys  londe, 
Sheenynge  starre  of  Chrystes  lyglite, 

The  merkie  mysts  of  pagann  nyghte 
Gan  to  scatter  farr  and  wyde : 
Thanne  Seyncte  Warburghe  liee  arose, 
Doffed  hys  honnores  and  fyne  clothes  ; 
Preechynge  hys  Lorde  Jesus  name, 

Toe  the  lande  of  West  Sexx  came, 

Whare  blaeke  Severn  rolls  hys  ty<le. 


II. 

Stronge  ynn  faithfullness,  he  trodde 
Overr  the  waterrs  lyke  a Godde, 

Till  he  gaynde  the  distaunt  hecke, 

Ynn  whose  bankes  hys  staffe  dydd  steck, 
Wytnesse  to  the  myrracle  ; 

Thenne  he  preechedd  nyghte  and  dai6 , 
And  set  manee  ynn  ryghte  waie. 

Thys  goode  staffe  great  wonders  wroughte, 
Moe  than  gueste  bie  mortalle  thoughte, 
Orr  thann  mortall  tonge  can  tell. 


SONGE  OF  SEYNCTE  WARBURGHE.  327 


III. 

Therm  the  foulke  a brydge  dydd  make 
OveiT  the  streme  untoe  the  hecke, 

All  of  wode  eke  longe  and  wyde, 

Pryde  and  glorie  of  the  tyde  ; 

Whych  ynn  tyme  dydd  falle  awaie : 
Then  Erie  Leof  he  bespedde 
Thys  grete  ryverr  fromme  hys  bedde, 
Round  hys  castle  for  to  runne, 

T’was  in  trothe  ann  ancyante  onne, 

But  warre  and  tyme  wyll  all  decaie. 


IV. 

Now  agayne,  wythe  bremie  force, 
Severn  ynn  hys  aynciant  course 
Rolls  hys  rappyd  streeme  alonge, 

With  a sable  swifte  and  stronge, 

Moreying  manie  ann  okie  wood : 
Wee  the  menne  of  Brystowe  towne 
Have  yreerd  thys  brydge  of  stone, 
Wyshynge  echone  that  ytt  maie  laste 
Till  the  date  of  dales  be  past, 

Standynge  where  the  other  stoode. 


SANCTE  WARBUR.^ 


In  auntient  dayes,  when  Kenewalchyn  King 
Of  all  the  borders  of  the  sea  did  reigne, 

Whos  cutting  celes,  as  the  Bardyes  synge, 

Cut  strakyng  furrowes  in  the  foamie  mayne, 
Sancte  Warbur  cast  aside  his  Earles  estate, 

As  great  as  good,  and  eke  as  good  as  great, 

Tho  blest  with  what  us  men  accounts  as  store. 
Saw  something  further,  and  saw  something  more. 

Where  smokyng  Wasker  scours  the  claiey  bank, 
And  gilded  fishes  wanton  in  the  sunne, 
Emyttynge  to  the  feelds  a dewie  dank. 

As  in  the  twyning  path-waye  he  doth  runne  ; 
Here  stood  a house,  that  in  the  ryver  smile 
Since  valorous  Ursa  first  wonne  Bryttayn  Isle ; 
The  stones  in  one  as  firm  as  rock  unite. 

And  it  defyde  the  greatest  Warriours  myghte. 

Around  about  the  lofty  elemens  hie 
Proud  as  their  planter  reerde  their  greenie 
crest, 

1 From  the  Supplement  to  Cliatterton^s  Miscellanies.  It 
is  there  entitled — Imitation  of  our  Old  Poets.  On  oure 
Ladyes  Chirch.  1769. — Southey’s  Edition. 


SANCTE  WAR15UR. 


329 


Bent  out  their  heads,  whene’er  the  windes 
came  hie. 

In  amorous  dalliaunce  the  flete  cloudes  kest. 
Attendjnge  Squires  dreste  in  trickynge  brighte, 
To  each  tenth  Squier  an  attendjnge  Knjghte, 
The  hallie  hung  with  pendaunts  to  the  flore, 

A coat  of  nobil  armes  upon  the  doore  ; 

Horses  and  dogges  to  hunt  the  fallowe  deere, 
Of  pastures  many,  wide  extent  of  wode, 
Faulkonnes  in  mewes,  and,  little  birds  to  teir, 
The  Sparrow  Hawke,  and  manie  Hawkies  gode. 
Just  in  the  prime  of  life,  whan  others  court 
Some  swottie  Nymph,  to  gain  their  tender  hand, 
Greet  with  the  Kynge  and  trerdie  greet  with 
the  Court 

And  as  aforesed  mickle  much  of  land, 


WARREJ 


BY  JOHN,  SECOND  ABBOTTE  OF  SEYNCTE  AUS- 
TYNS  MYNSTERRE. 

Of  warres  glumm  pleasaunce  doe  I chaunte  mie 
laie, 

Trouthe  tips  the  poynctelle,  wysdomme  skemps 
the  Ijne, 

Whylste  hoare  experiaunce  telleth  what  toe  saie, 
Ajid  forwyned  hosbandrie  wyth  blearie  eyne, 
Stondeth  and  woe  bements  ; the  trecklynge  bryne 
Rounnynge  adone  hys  cheekes  which  doethe  shewe, 
Lyke  hys  unfrutefulle  fieldes,  longe  straungers  to 
the  ploughe. 

Saie,  Glowster,  whanne  besprenged  on  evrich 
syde. 

The  gentle  hyndlette  and  the  vylleyn  felle  ; 
Whanne  smetheynge  sange  dyd  flow  lyke  to  a 
tyde. 

And  sprytes  were  damned  for  the  lacbe  of  knelle, 
Diddest  thou  kenne  ne  lykeness  to  an  helle, 

1 From  Barrett’s  History  of  Bristol.  Chatterton  says,  “ As 
yen  approve  of  the  small  specimen  of  his  poetry,  I have  sent 
you  a larger,  which,  though  admirable,  is  still  (in  my  opin- 
ion) inferior  to  Rowley,  whose  works,  when  I have  leisure,  J 
vill  fairly  copy  and  send  you.” — Southey’s  Edition. 


WARKE. 


331 


Where  all  were  misdeedes  doeynge  lyche  unwise* 

Where  hope  unbarred  and  deathe  eftsoones  dyd 
shote  theyre  eies. 

Ye  shepster  swaynes  who  the  ribibble  kenne, 

Ende  the  thyghte  daunce,  ne  loke  uponne  the 
spere  : 

In  ugsommnesse  ware  moste  bee  dyghte  toe 
menne, 

Unseliness  attendethe  honourewere ; 

Quaffe  your  swote  vemage  and  atreeted  beere. 


A CHRONYCALLE  OF  BRYSTOWE. 


WROTE  DIE  RAUPE  CHEDDER,  CHAPrMANNK 

1356.» 

Ynne  whilomme  dales  as  Stowe  sales 
Ynne  famous  Biystowe  towne 
Dhere  Ijved  Knyghtes  doughtle  yn  fyghtes 
Of  marvellous  renowne. 

A Saxonne  boulde  renowned  of  oulde 
For  Dethe  and  dernle  dede 
Malnt  Tanmen  slone  the  Brugge  uponne 
Icausynge  hem  to  blede. 

Baldwynne  hys  name,  RoUes  sale  the  same 
And  yev  hymme  rennome  grate, 

Hee  lyved  nere  the  Ellyntelre 
A1  ble  Seyncte  Lenardes  yate. 

A mansion  hie,  made  bosmorelle 
Was  reered  ble  hys  honde, 

Whanne  he  ysterve,  hys  name  unkerve 
Inne  Baldwynne  streete  doe  stonde. 

On  Ellle  then  of  Mercyann  menne 
As  meynte  of  Pentells  blase, 

Inne  Castle-stede  made  dofull  dede 
And  dydde  the  Dans  arase. 

' From  a MS.  by  Chatterton  in  the  British  Museum. 


A CHRONYCALLE  OF  BRTSTOWE.  333 

One  Leefwyne  of  Kyngelie  Lyne 
Inne  Brystowe  towne  dyd  leve, 

And  toe  the  samme  for  hys  gode  name 
The  Ackmanne  Yate  dyd  gev. 

Hammon  a Lorde  of  hie  accorde 
Was  ynne  the  strete  nempte  brede  ; 

Soe  greate  hys  Myghte  soe  strynge  yn  fyghte 
Onne  Byker  hee  dyd  fede. 

Fitz  Lupons  digne  of  gentle  Lyne 
Onne  Radclyve  made  hys  Baie, 

Inn  moddie  Gronne  the  whyche  uponne 
Botte  Reittes  and  roshes  laie. 

Than  Radclyve  Strete  of  Mansyonnes  meete 
In  semelie  gare  doe  stonde, 

And  Canynge  grete  of  fayre  estate 
Bryngeth  to  Tradynge  Londe. 

Hardynge  dydde  comme  from  longe  Kyngd- 
domme 

Inne  Knyvesmythe  strete  to  lyne, 

Roberte  hys  Sonne,  moche  gode  thynges  donne 
As  Abblates  doe  blasynne. 

Roberte  the  Erie,  ne  conkered  curll 
Inne  Castle  stede  dyd  fraie 
Yynge  Henrie  to  ynn  Brystowe  true 
As  Hydelle  dyd  obaie. 

A Maioure  dheene  bee  ande  Jamne  hee 
Botte  anne  ungentle  wyghte, 

Seyncte  Marie  tende  eche  ammie  frende 
Bie  hallie  Taper  lyghte. 


ON  HAPPIENESSE.* 


BY  WILLIAM  CANYNGK. 

Maie  Selynesse  on  erthes  boundes  bee  hadde  ? 
Maie  yt  adygbte  yn  human  shape  be  found  ? 
Wote  yee,  yt  was  wyth  Edin’s  bower  bestadde, 
Or  quite  eraced  from  the  scaunce-layd  grounde, 
Whan  from  the  secret  fontes  the  waterres  dyd 
abounde  ? 

Does  yt  agrosed  shun  the  bodyed  waulke, 

Lyve  to  ytself  and  to  yttes  ecchoe  taulke  ? 


II. 

All  hayle,  Contente,  thou  mayd  of  turtle-eyne, 

As  thie  behoulders  thynke  thou  arte  iwreene, 

To  ope  the  dore  to  Selynesse  ys  thyne, 

And  Chrystis  glorie  doth  upponne  thee  sheene. 
Doer  of  the  foule  thynge  ne  hath  thee  seene  ; 

In  caves,  ynn  wodes,  ynn  woe,  and  dole  distresse, 
Whoere  hath  thee  hath  gotten  Selynesse. 

1 This,  and  the  two  following  Poems,  attributed  to  Mr. 
Canynge,  are  printed  from  Mr.  Catcott’s  copies. — Tir 
WHITT’S  Edition, 


THE  GOULER’S  REQUIEM, 


BY  THE  SAME. 


I. 

Mie  boolie  entes,  adieu ! ne  moe  the  syghte 
Of  guilden  merke  shall  mete  mie  joieous  eyne, 
Ne  moe  the  sylver  noble  sheenynge  bryghte 
Schall  fyll  mie  honde  with  weight  to  speke  ytt 
fyne; 

Ne  moe,  ne  moe,  alass ! I call  you  myne : 
Whydder  must  you,  ah ! whydder  must  I goe  ? 
I kenn  not  either ; oh  mie  enmers  dygne, 

To  parte  wyth  you  wyll  wurcke  mee  myckle 
woe ; 

I muste  be  gonne,  botte  whare  I dare  ne  telle ; 
0 storthe  unto  mie  mynde  ! I goe  to  helle. 


II. 

Soone  as  the  morne  dyd  dyghte  the  roddie 
sunne, 

A shade  of  theves  eche  streake  of  lyghte  dyd 
seeme ; 

Whann  ynn  the  heavn  full  half  hys  course  was 
rnnn, 


836 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Eche  stirrjng  nayghbour  dyd  mie  barte  afleme  : 
Tbye  loss,  or  quyck  or  slope,  was  aie  mie 
dreme ; 

For  Ibee,  0 gould,  I dyd  tbe  lawe  ycrase  ; 

For  tbee,  I gotten  or  bie  wiles  or  breme  ; 

Ynn  tbee  I all  mie  joie  and  good  dyd  place  ; 
Botte  nowe  to  mee  tbie  pleasaunce  ys  ne  moe, 

I kenne  notte  botte  for  tbee  I to  tbe  quede  must 
goe. 


HERAUDm 

A FRAGMENTE.^ 

Yynge  Heraudyn  al  bie  thegrene  Wode  sate, 
Hereynge  the  swote  Chelandrie  ande  the  Oue. 
Seeinge  the  kenspecked  amaylde  flourettes  nete, 
Envyngynge  to  the  Birds  hys  Love  songs  true. 
Syrre  Preeste  camme  bie  ande  forthe  hys  bede- 
rolle  drewe, 

Fyve  Aves  and  one  Pater  moste  be  sedde ; 
Twayne  songe,  the  one  his  songe  of  Willowe  Kue 
The  odher  one 

»«««*« 

* From  a MS.  by  Chatterton  in  the  British  Mnseoin. 


VOL.  n. 


22 


EPITAPH  ON  ROBERT  CANYNGE.’ 


Thys  mornynge  starre  of  Radcleves  rjsynge 
raie, 

A true  manne  good  of  mynde  and  Canynge 
hyghte, 

Benethe  thys  stone  lies  moltrynge  ynto  claie, 

Untylle  the  darke  tombe  sheene  an  eterne  lyghte. 

Thyrde  from  hys  loynes  the  present  Canynge 
came ; 

Houton  are  wordes  for  to  telle  hys  doe  ; 

For  aye  shall  lyve  hys  heaven-recorded  name, 

Ne  shall  yt  dye  whanne  tyme  shalle  bee  no  moe ; 

Whanne  MychaeFs  trumpe  shall  sounde  to  rise 
the  solle, 

He’ll  wynge  to  heaven  with  kynne,  and  happie 
bee  hvs  dolle. 


ONN  JOHN  A DALBENIE. 

BY  WILLIAM  CANYNGE. 

JoHNE  makes  a jarre  boute  Lancaster  and  Yorke 
Bee  stille,  gode  manne,  and  learne  to  mynde  tide 
worke. 

1 This  is  one  of  the  fragments  of  vellum,  given  by  Chatter 
'on  to  Mr.  Barrett,  as  part  of  his  original  MSS. 


THE  ACCOUNTE  OF  W.  CANYNGES  FEAST.J 


BY  THE  SAME. 

Thor  OWE  the  halle  the  belle  han  sounde  ; 
Byelecoyle  doe  the  Grave  beseeme  ; 

The  ealdermenne  doe  sytte  arounde, 

Ande  snoffelle  oppe  the  cheorte  steeme. 
Lyche  asses  wylde  ynne  desarte  waste 
Swotelye  the  morneynge  ayre  doe  taste. 

1 This  poem  is  taken  from  a fragment  of  vellum,  which 
Chatterton  gave  to  Mr.  Barrett  as  an  original.  With  respect 
to  the  three  friends  of  Mr.  Canynge  mentioned  in  the  last 
line,  the  name  of  Rowley  is  sufficiently  known  from  the  pre- 
ceding poems.  Iscamm  appears  as  an  actor  in  the  tragedy 
of  ^lla,  and  in  that  of  Goddwyn;  and  a poem,  ascribed  to 
him,  entitled,  “The  merry  Tricks  of  Laymington,”  is  in- 
serted in  the  “ Discorse  of  Bristow.”  Sir  Theobald  Gorges 
was  a knight  of  an  ancient  family  seated  at  Wraxhall,  with- 
in a few  miles  of  Bristol.  (See  Rot.  Pari.  3 H.  VI.  n.  28. 
Leland’s  Itin.  vol.  VII.  p.  98.)  He  has  also  appeared  as  an 
actor  in  both  the  tragedies,  and  as  the  author  of  one  of  the 
Mynstrelles  songes  in  ^lla.  His  connection  with  Mr.  Canynge 
is  verified  by  a deed  of  the  latter,  dated  20th  October,  1467, 
in  which  he  gives  to  trustees,  in  part  of  a benefaction  of 
£500  to  the  Church  of  St.  Mary  Redclifie,  “ certain  jewels 
of  Sir  Theobald  Gorges,  Knt.,”  which  had  been  pawned  to 
him  for  ^£160. — Tyrwhitt’s  Edition. 


340 


ROWLEY  POEMS. 


Syke  keene  thie  ate;  the  minstrels  plaie, 
The  dynne  of  angelles  doe  theie  keepe  ; 

Heie  stylle,  the  guestes  ha  ne  to  saie, 

Butte  iiodde  yer  thankes  ande  falle  aslape. 
Thus  echone  daie  bee  I to  deene, 

Gyf  Rowley,  Iscamm,  or  Tyb.  Gorges  be  ne 
seene. 


APPENDIX 


TO  THE  ROWLEY  POEMS. 


To  Ike  Lditor  of  the  Bristol  Mirror. 

Sir, — send  to  you  a lost  portion  of  a piece  writ- 
ten by  Chatterton.  It  was  the  gift  of  my  uncle  Mr. 
George  Symes  Catcott,  in  1782,  to  the  late  Mr.  Thos. 
Eagles,  who  first  published  the  Bristow  Tragedy,  or 
the  Death  of  Sir  Charles  Bawdin,  (1772.)  It  has  lain 
amongst  the  papers  of  the  latter  gentleman  many 
years,  together  with  other  autographs,  of  which  you 
will  probably  hear  more  hereafter.  His  son,  the  Rev- 
erend and  very  highly-talented  fellow-citizen,  John 
Eagles,  has  kindly  presented  it  to  me.  Independently 
of  the  history  of  the  sheet,  the  MS.  carries  in  every 
line  indubitable  internal  evidence  of  its  parent  to  all 
who  are  acquainted  with  the  hand  and  the  acknowl- 
edged productions  of  the  unhappy  boy.  The  lines  are 
written  on  both  sides  of  a school  copy-book.  I have 
searched  all  the  editions  extant  of  Chatterton’s  works, 
but  I cannot  find  it ; I presume,  therefore,  that  it  has 
never  been  pubhshed.  The  first  portion  of  the  piece, 
vf  which  this  is  a part,  will  be  found  in  “ The  introduc- 
tion to  the  Discoursynge  Tragedy  of  iElla,  as  plaied 
before  Mastre  Cannynge,  att  his  howse  nempte  the 


342  APPENDIX  TO  THE  KOWLEY  POEMS 


Redde  Lodge,”  In  the  reign  of  Edward  ye  Fourtli.  1 
copy  this  extract  from  the  edition  of  “ The  Works  of 
Kowlie,”  page  181,  as  edited  by  the  learned  and  very 
Reverend  Dean  Milles.  In  that  folio  may  also  be  seen 
^ figure  “ carvelled  in  stone,”  representing  the  hero  of 
the  piece,  one  Johannes  Lamynton.  It  escaped  also 
the  researches  of  the  Poet  Laureat  and  ]\Ir.  Cottle  in 
1803,  a portion  only  of  the  piece  (see  Chatterton’s 
works,  page  145,  vol.  2)  having  fallen  into  their  hands. 
The  late  Mr.  Thomas  Eagles  was  applied  to  by  the  edi- 
tors, and  was  a man  of  too  liberal  a mind,  wittingly  to 
have  refused  a contribution  ; it  is  probable,  therefore, 
that  he  had  mislaid  it,  or  forgotten  that  he  had  such  a 
MS.  in  his  possession. 

The  aforesaid  Laymyngstone,  for  the  name  is  not  al- 
ways spelled  the  same,  was  a man  of  good  family,  and 
at  one  time  “a  courteous  Sir  Knight,”  and  fought 
bravely  on  several  honest  occasions ; but  he  took  to 
dissolute  courses — in  a word,  he  became  the  leader  of 
a band  of  pirates,  who  infested  the  Thames,  the  Nar- 
row Seas,  and  the  Bristol  Channel.  At  length 
he  was  captured,  and  condemned  to  be  hanged  ; when 
nnder  sentence  of  death  the  poet  makes  him  say — 

“ A rygourous  doome  is  mynne,  upon  my  faie 
Before  the  parent  starre,  the  lyghtsomme  sunne 
Hath  three  times  lyghtened  uppe  the  cheerful  daie. 

To  other  realms  must  Lamyngstone  be  gonne. 

Or  else  my  fleemsie  threede  of  lytfe  is  spunne, 

And  shall  I hearken  to  a cowart’s  reede  V 
No — flie  all  thoughts  of  running  to  the  queede. 

No,  here  I’ll  stay,  and  let  the  Cocknies  see 

That  Lamyngstone  the  brave  will  Lamyngstone  still  bee 

To  fyght  and  not  to  flee  my  sabatans 

I’ll  don,  and  girth  my  sworde  unto  my  syde» 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  ROWLEY  POEMS.  343 

ril  go  to  shippe,  but  not  to  forayrie  land, 

But  acte  the  Pyrate,  robbing  everie  tyde. 

With  Cocknies’  bloude,  Thamysis  shall  be  redde 
My  Barque  the  lavard  of  the  waters  rydde. 

Her  sayles  of  scarlette,  and  her  stoure  of  goulde. 

My  menne  the  Saxonnes,  I the  Hengyst  bee, 

And  in  my  shyppe  combyne  the  force  of  all  the  three.” 

This  bravery  holds  him  on  during  forty  lines  in  Mr, 
Catcotfs  manuscript,  now  before  me.  There  is  also 
“ a true,  whole,  and  particular  account  of  his  birth, 
parentage,  and  education,”  showing  how,  in  expiation 
of  his  malpractices,  he  was  ordered  to  build  a church, 
but  it  is  too  long  for  insertion  here.  Besides,  although 
I have  spoken  of  our  hero  as  a reality,  yet  there  is 
little  doubt  that  the  whole  is  a fiction  by  Chatterton  ; 
but  as  even  in  an  ordinary  novel  the  reader  feels  an 
interest  in  the  catastrophe,  I add  that  King  Henry  par- 
doned him,  even  after  hope  had  left  him. 

His  propensities  were,  however,  “ bred  in  the  bone ; ” 
he  again  hoisted  the  bloody  flag,  and  finally  perished  in 
a great  battle,  fighting  under  the  white  rose,  against 
the  Lancastrians. 

It  may  be  well  to  apprise  the  reader  that  Robynne, 
being  determined  to  join  the  band  of  freebooters, 
-inder  Lamyngstone,  applies  to  him  to  be  enrolled,  but 
the  latter  tried  to  dissuade  him,  by  depicting  the  hor- 
rors of  a pirate’s  life — with  what  success  the  lines  will 
show. 


LAMINGSTONE,  PHILPOTT,  AND  ROBYNNE. 

Lam. — Thou  saiest  manne  that  thou  wouldst  goe  with  mee, 
And  bare  a parte  in  all  mie  mennes  empryze, 

’•'hiiike  well  upon  the  daungers  of  the  sea 
And  ghess  if  that  wyll  no  thee  recradize. 

When  throwghe  the  skies  the  levyn-brondie  fiiea, 


844  APPENDIX  TO  THE  ROWLEY  POEMS. 


And  levy  ns  spark  el  in  the  whited  oundes 
Seemynge  to  ryse  at  lepestone  to  the  skies, 

And  no  contented  bee  with  its  sette  bounds. 

Then  rolles  the  barque  and  tosses  too  and  fro, 

Sike  drearie  scenes  as  thys  will  code  thie  bloude  I trowe. 
Thynk,  when  wyth  bloudie  axes  in  our  handes 
We  are  to  fyghte  for  goulde  and  sylver  to. 

On  neighbours  myndbuch  lyfe  no  one  then  standes, 

But  all  his  ayme  and  end  is  to  death’s  doo. 

Rob. — I’ve  thowghte  on  alle,  and  am  resolved  to  goe, 
Fortune  no  moe  I’ll  bee  thie  taunted  slave. 

Once  I was  greete,  nowe  plans’d  in  wante  and  woe, 

I’ll  goo  and  bee  a pick  hatch  of  the  wave; 

Goodes  I have  none,  and  lyfe  I do  disdayne. 

I’ll  be  a victoar,  or  I’ll  break  mie  gallynge  chayne. 

I’ll  washe  mie  handes  in  bloude  and  dele  in  dethe. 

Our  shippe  shall  blowe  alonge  with  windes  of  dyinge  breth. 

Thus  far  is  the  autograph  of  Chatterton.  Upon  ref- 
erence to  a copy  of  the  whole  piece,  now  before  me  in 
the  handwriting  of  Mr.  Catcott,  I find  that  which  is 
here  subjoined,  and  which  in  all  probability  was  upon 
the  next  leaf  of  the  copy-book  which  is  now  lost. 

Lam. — I like  thy  courage,  and  I’ll  tell  thy  doome, 

Thou  wilt  unyere  a brave  captaine  bee, 

Goe  thou  to  Brystowe,  staie  untylle  wee  come 
For  there  we  shall  happlie  have  neede  of  thee, 

And  for  a thight  and  shapelie  warehouse  see 
Whareeri  to  put  the  chattels  we  shall  brynge. 

And  know  if  there  two  Cocknie  knaves  may  bee 
Phillpot  and  Walworth,  soe  reporte  doth  synge. 

If  soe  I’ll  trounce  the  gouler  bie  mie  faie. 

There’s  monies  maun  for  thee—  Ralph ! take  the  things  awaie 
Which  we  from  Watchets  towne  have  taken  nowe, 

Yn  the  barque’s  bottom  see  thee  same  you  stowe. 

Ralph. — Mastre  of  myne  I go  as  you  do  saie. 

Rob. — And  I to  Brystowe  town  will  haste  awaie. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  KOWLEY  POEMS.  345 


We  must  now  have  recourse  to  Dean  Milles’s  and 
Cottle’s  Edition — in  the  latter,  in  vol.  ii.  page  145,  will 
r»e  found  a fragment,  being  a most  strange  and  un- 
accountable jumble  of  Latin  and  English,  ending 
thus : — 

Walworth. — Quae  requirit  misericordiam  mala  causa  est 
Alack ! alack ! a sad  dome  mine  in  fay. 

But  oft  with  citizens  it  is  the  case. 

Honesta  turpitude  pro  bona 
Causa  mori,  as  auntiente  pensmene  saye. 

Here  it  breaks  off,  being  from  “ The  first  part  of 
Discourse  the  Second,  between  Master  Walworth  and 
Philpot  Cocknies.” 

Chatterton’s  autograph  supplies  the  remainder  of  the 
hiatus — whether  it  was  valde  dejlendus  the  reader  shall 
judge  ; howbeit,  at  all  events,  it  is  a lost  sheep  driven 
into  the  Shepherd’s  flock.  Thus  it  runs  : — 

Phill. — Home  news  welle  let  alone  and  latjm  too. 

For  mee  a memorie  doth  ’gin  to  fayle; 

Saie,  Master  Walworth,  what  gode  newes  have  you, 
Praie  have  you  herdeen  of  the  stouns  of  hayle  ? 

Walw. — have,  and  that  ytte  with  reddour  did  sayle, 
Some  heutstones  were  lyke  cheryes  rege  and  grete 

And  to  the  grownde  there  did  the  trees  preveyle. 

But  goodmanne  Philpotte  what  dye  you  ahete 

Bowte  goods  of  Laymingtone,  nowe  holde  by  you 

For  certaine  monies  store  to  you  for  chattels  due  ? 

Phille. — Ah,  I have  nymd  him  specyal,  for  his  wine 
Have  ta’en  attons  twelve  pounds,  for  dayntye  cheer. 

Though  the  same  time  mie  wyfe  wyth  hym  dyd  dyne, 
Been  payd  a mark — non-extra  of  the  beer; 

»ut  when  hys  synkynge  purse  did  ’gin  to  wear 
1 lent  hym  full  syx  markes  upon  hys  faie, 


S4.6  APPENDIX  TO  THE  ROWLEY  POEMS. 


And  hee,  poore  Custrols,  havyiige  note  to  spere 
Favor’d  a cleere  and  now  doth  runne  awaie, 

Hys  goodcs  I downe  at  Brystowe  towne  wyll  selle, 

For  which  I will  get  forty  shenynge  marks  full  well. 

Wal. — Tyde  lyfe,  t}^de  death,  I wyll  withe  thee  go  downe, 
And  selle  some  goods  too  yn  brave  Brystowe  towne. 

So  much  for  the  autograph — now  for  a word,  by  way 
of  tailpiece.  All  inc^uiring  strangers  are  surprised  to 
find  that,  although  Bristol  gave  birth  to  the  boy  whose 
innate  talent  has  rendered  him,  in  spite  of  all  obstacles, 
a star  of  the  very  first  magnitude  in  the  galaxy  of  na- 
tional bards,  yet  that  the  noble  library  in  his  native 
city  contains  not  a single  line,  or  even  a word,  the  act> 
ual  production  of  his  hand  and  pen. 

This  reproach,  for  so  I consider  it  to  be,  shall  be 
speedily  done  away^,  by  presenting  to  the  library  the 
last  letter  he  ever  wrote,  together  with  the  sketch  of 
the  intended  pamphlet  against  Bishop  Newton — also 
the  first  560  lines  of  the  Battle  of  Hastyngs — 
the  Tournament,  or  Unknown  Knight,  consisting 
of  110  lines — Craish’s  Heraldry,  consisting  of  six 
pages  of  his  manuscript,  on  which  are  emblazoned  by 
him  eight  shields,  never  yet  published.  For  the  tliree 
latter  pieces  the  public  have  to  thank  the  Bev.  John 
Eagles,  who,  most  liberally,  presented  the  autographs 
to  me  a short  time  since. 

As  an  avant  courier^  I have  already  presented  to  the 
Committee,  to  be  hung  up  in  the  room,  the  sheet  con- 
cerning Lamyngstone,  which  being  plac<id  between 
two  panes  of  glass  and  framed,  may  be  read  both 
sides  without  any  risque  of  damage.* 

* The  late  Mr.  George  Symes  Catcott,  who  was  termed 
Rowley’s  Midwife,”  (he  having  first  published  “ The 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  ROWLEY  POEMS.  347 


Although  this  communication  is  longer  than  I intend- 
ed, yet  I have  to  hope  that  your  readers  will  pardon  it, 
especially  the  admirers  of  that  friendless  and  talented 
boy,  whose  transcendent  genius  has  cast  upon  “ aun- 
tiente  Brightstowe  ” a never-dying  lustre,  and  an  in- 
terest to  be  extinguished  only  by  the  “ crack  of  doom.” 
I remain,  &c.,  yours, 

RICHABD  SMITH, 
Surgeon. 

88,  Street. 

April  27,  1838. 

Poems,”)  was  a most  laborious  collector  of  all  papers, notices, 
critiques,  and  paragraphs,  from  all  the  publications,  news- 
papers, journals,  and  magazines,  together  with  a complete  list 
and  index;  and  all  these,  fifty-seven  in  number,  he  has  pasted 
into  two  large  volumes.  He  has  also,  with  his  own  hand, 
copied  all  the  correspondence  between  himself  and  the  literati 
of  the  day.  Amongst  these  are  letters  from  and  to  Dean 
Milles,  Lord  Dacres,  Percy  of  Alnwick,  Dr.  Glynn,  Rev.  (af- 
terwards Sir  Herbert)  Croft,  Tyrwhitt,  Villey,  Lord  Camden, 
Lord  Charlemont,  and  the  celebrated  Thomas  James  Matthias. 
Now  this  is  nowhere  else  to  be  found.  The  books  are  now  in 
the  possession  of  Mr.  Richard  Smith,  Senior  Surgeon  of  the 
Infirmary,  who  is  the  nephew  of  Mr.  Catcott.  We  have 
reason  to  believe  that  the  whole,  together  with  Chatterton’s 
autograph  letter,  and  many  other  things,  will  be  at  no  very 
distant  period  presented  to  the  City  Library.  This  is  as  it 
ihould  be. — Extract  from  the  Bristol  Mirrw. 


APPENDIX  IL 


PROSE  MISCELLANIES. 

ANTIQUITY  OF  CHRISTMAS  GAMES. ^ 

In  tlie  days  of  our  ancestors,  Christmas  was  a period 
sacred  to  mirth  and  hospitality.  Though  not  wholly 
neglected  now,  it  cannot  boast  of  the  honours  it  once 
had;  the  veneration  for  religious  seasons  fled  with 
popery,  and  old  English  hospitality  is  long  since  de- 
ceased. Our  modern  playthings  of  fortune,  who  make 
the  whole  year  a revolution  of  dissipation  and  joyless 
festivity,  cannot  distinguish  this  season ; unless  by  rest- 
ing from  their  laborious  pleasures,  and  (if  they  can 
think)  find  a happy  serenity  in  solitude  and  reflection, 
unknown  in  the  tumult  of  hurricanes.  The  ancient 
Christmas  gambols  were,  in  my  opinion,  superior  to 
our  modern  spectacles  and  amusements;  wrestling, 
hurling  the  ball,  and  dancing  in  the  woodlands,  were 
pleasures  for  men ; it  is  true,  the  conversation  of  the 
hearthside  was  the  tales  of  superstition ; the  fairies, 
Kobin  Goodfellow,  and  hobgoblins,  never  failed  to 
make  the  trembling  audience  mutter  an  Ave  Maria, 
and  cross  their  chins ; but  the  laughable  exercises  of 
blindman’s-buff,  riddling,  and  question  and  command, 
sufficiently  compensated  for  the  few  sudden  starts  of 
terror.  Add  to  these  amusements,  the  wretched  voices 

1 From  a MS.  preserved  in  the  British  Museum.  Add 
MSS.  5761).  C. 


CHRISTMAS  GAMES. 


349 


of  the  chanters  and  sub-chanters;  howling  carols  in 
Latin  ; the  chiming  of  consecrated  bells ; the  burning 
consecrated  wax-candles ; curiously  representing  the 
Virgin  Mary ; praying  the  saint  whose  monastery  stood 
nearest;  the  munching  consecrated  cross-loaves,  sold 
by  the  monks ; all  which  effectually  eradicated  the 
spectres  of  their  terrific  stories.  Nor  were  these  the 
only  charms  against  the  foul  fiends,  and  night-mare ; 
sleeping  cross-legged,  like  the  effigies  of  Knights 
Templars,  and  warriors,  and  the  holy  bush  and  church- 
yard yew,  were  certain  antidotes  against  those  invisi- 
ble beings.  After  this  representation,  I may  be  thought 
partial  to  my  own  hobby-horse,  as  an  antiquary,  in 
.giving  the  preference  to  the  amusements  of  the  days 
of  old ; but  let  the  sentimental  reader  consider  that 
the  tales  of  superstition,  when  believed,  affect  the  soul 
with  a sensation  pleasurably  horrid;  we  may  paint 
in  more  lively  colours  to  the  eye,  they  spoke  to  the 
heart. 

The  great  barons  and  knights  usually  kept  open 
house  during  this  season,  when  their  villains,  or  vassals, 
were  entertained  with  bread,  beef,  and  beer,  and  a 
pudding,  wastol  cake,  or  Christmas  kitchel,  and  a groat 
in  silver  at  parting ; being  obliged,  in  return,  to  wave 
the  full  flaggon  round  their  heads,  in  honour  of  the 
master  of  the  house.  Sometimes  the  festival  continued 
till  Twelfth-day,  when  the  baron,  or  his  steward,  took 
the  deis  or  upper  seat  of  the  table,  and  after  dinner 
gave  every  man  a new  gown  of  his  livery,  and  two 
Christmas  kitchels.  This  kind  of  liberality  endeared 
the  barons  to  the  common  people,  and  made  them  ever 
ready  to  take  up  arms  under  their  banners. 

A register  of  the  nunnery  of  Keynsham  relates,  that 


550 


PROSE  MISCELLANIES. 


William,  Earl  of  Gloucester,  entertained  two  hunt  I red 
knights  with  tilts  and  fortunes,  at  his  great  manor  of 
Keynsham,  provided  thirty  pies  of  the  eels  of  Avon, 
as  a curious  dainty  ; and  on  the  Twelfth-day  began  the 
plays  for  the  knights  by  the  monks ; with  miracles  and 
maumeries  for  the  henchmen  and  servants,  by  min- 
strels. 

Here  is  plainly  a distinction  made  between  mau- 
meries and  miracles,  and  the  more  noble  representa- 
tions comprehended  under  the  name  plays.  The  first 
were  the  holiday  entertainments  of  the  vulgar ; the 
other  of  the  barons  and  nobility.  The  private  exhibi- 
tions at  the  manors  of  the  barons  were  usually  family 
histories;  the  monk,  who  represented  the  master  of 
the  family,  being  arrayed  in  a tabard  (or  herald’s  coat 
without  sleeves)  painted  with  all  the  hatchments  of  the 
names.  In  these  domestic  performances,  absurdities 
were  unavoidable ; and  in  a play  wrote  by  Sir  Tibbet 
Gorges,’  Constance,  countess  of  Bretagne  and  Rich- 
mond, marries  and  buries  her  three  husbands  in  the 
compass  of  an  hour.  Sometimes  these  pieces  were 
merely  relations,  and  had  only  two  characters  of  this 
kind,  as  that  in  Weever’s  Funeral  monuments.  None 
but  the  patrons  of  monasteries  had  the  service  of  monks 
in  performing  plays  on  holidays ; provided  the  same 
contained  nothing  against  God  or  the  church.  The 
public  exhibitions  were  superior  to  the  private;  the 

1 Who  was  Sir  Thybbot  Gorges  ? He  was  one  of  that 
bright  galaxy  of  bards  who  flourished  in  the  fourteenth  and 
fifteenth  centuries,  and  who  were  unknown  to  the  world  till 
Chatterton  generously  introduced  them  to  posterity  and 

fame.  Ed. 


CHRISTMAS  GAMES, 


351 


plot,  generally,  the  life  of  some  pope,  or  the  founder 
of  the  abbey  the  monks  belonged  to.  I have  seen 
several  of  these  pieces,  mostly  Latin,  and  cannot  think 
our  ancestors  so  ignorant  of  dramatic  excellence  as  the 
generality  of  modern  writers  would  represent;  they 
had  a good  moral  in  view,  and  some  of  the  maumeries 
abound  with  it,  which  though  low  now,  was  not  so  then. 
Minstrels,  jesters,  and  mummers,  was  the  next  class  of 
performers ; every  knight  had  two  or  three  minstrels 
and  jesters,  who  were  maintained  in  his  house,  to  en- 
tertain his  family  in  their  hours  of  dissipation ; these 
Chaucer  mentions  in  the  following  passages : — 

Doe  comme,  he  saied,  myn  mynstrales. 

And  jestours  for  to  tellen  us  tales. 

Anon  in  mye  annyage 
Of  Romaunces  yatto  been  royals, 

Of  popes  and  cardinals, 

And  eke  of  love  longynge. 

Rime  of  Sir  Thopas. 

Of  all  manere  of  mynstrales. 

And  jestours  thatte  tellen  tales, 

Both  of  weepynge  and  of  yame, 

And  of  all  thatte  longeth  unto  fame. 

Third  Booh  of  Fame* 


The  MS.  of  the  Christmas  Games  is  preserved  in  the  Brit- 
ish Museum ; but  on  comparing  it  with  the  “ antiquity  of 
Christmas  Games,”  printed  by  Southey  in  his  Edition  of 
1803,  1 discovered  such  a striking  difference  in  the  structure 
of  the  sentences,  so  much  omitted  in  the  MS.  that  is  to  be 
found  in  the  printed  copy,  that  it  seems  probable  that  there 
were  two  MSS.  in  Chatterton’s  handwriting  in  existence, 
and  that  Southey’s  text  was  printed  from  the  missing  docu- 
ment. 1 have  retained  the  article,  as  it  has  hitherto  appeared 
in  nrevious  editions. 


352 


PROSE  MISCELLANIES. 


OF  THE  AUNTIAUNTE  FORME  OF  MONIES, 

CAREFULLIE  GOTTEN  FOR  MATSTER  WILLIAM  CANYNGE 
BY  MEE  THOMAS  ROWLEIE.l 

Greete  was  the  wysdome  of  him  who  sayde  the 
worlde  is  to  ne  one  creature,  whereof  every  man  and 
beaste  is  a member ; ne  manne  lyveth  therefore  for 
hymself  but  for  hys  fellow  creature.  Excellent  and 
pythey  was  the  sayeing  of  Mr.  Canynge  that  trade  is 
the  soule  of  the  worlde,  but  monie  the  soule  of  trade, 
ande  alasse  monie  is  nowe  the  soule  of  manie.  The 
age  when  metalles  fyrste  passed  for  monie  is  unnoticed : 
as  oxen  and  sheepe  is  thoughten  to  have  beene  the 
moste  earlie  monie  or  change.  Butte  ytte  is  stylle 
more  difficyle  to  fyx  the  fiyrst  tyme  of  stampeyng  ytte. 
Abrahame  is  sayde  to  have  yeven  shekylis  bie  wayght : 
an  Ebrewe  writer  saithe  that  in  the  daies  of  Joshua 
the  Ebrewes  enstamped  theyre  monies  wythe  the  sym- 
boles  of  the  tabernacle  vessylles,  butte  I thynke  the 
fyrste  enstampeyng  came  from  Heathenne  Ammulettes, 
whyche  were  markyd  wythe  the  image  of  theyre  idolle, 
and  preests  dyd  carrie  from  house  to  house  begginge 
or  rather  demaundynge  offeryngs  for  theyr  idolle. — The 
Ebrewes  who  scorned  not  to  learne  inyquytye  frome 
theyr  captyves,  and  vaynlie  thynkynge  as  in  other 
thyngs  to  copy  other  natyons  myghte  take  uppe  thys 
ensample  ande  enstamepynge  theyre  monie  in  the 
onlde  tyme  of  Josue  beyne  maie  happe  one  of  the 


I From  Barrett’s  History  of  Bristol,  p.  37. 


OF  THE  FORME  OF  MONIES. 


^53 


Idolatries  mentyon’d  in  Holie  wrete.  Examyne  into 
antiquytie  and  you  wylle  fynde  the  folk  of  Athens 
Btampyd  an  owelette  the  byrde  of  Athene,  the  Syc- 
ylyans  fyre  the  symbole  of  they  re  Godde  Vulcanne, 
theie  of  -®gypt  a couchaunt  creeture  wythe  a lyonnes 
boddie  and  a hawkes  heade  symbole  of  theyre  Godde 
Osyris : butte  to  come  to  owre  owne  countrie ; oure 
fyrste  fathers  the  Bryttons  usyde  yron  and  brasse  ryngs 
some  round,  some  shapyd  like  an  egge  ; eleven  of  these 
were  founde  in  the  gardenne  of  Galfrydes  Coombe  on 
Saincte  Mychaels  Hylle,  bie  theyre  dyspositionne  in 
the  grounde  seemed  to  have  been  strunge  onne  a 
strynge,  and  were  alle  marquede  on  insyde  thus,  M. 
Lykewyse  is  in  Maystre  Canynges  Cabynet  an  amulett 
of  Brytishe  characters  peerced  at  the  toppe.  Julyus 
Caesarres  coynes  were  the  fyrst  enstamped  monies 
usede  in  Englande ; after  whomme  the  Brytonnes 
coyned  as  folio wes.  Tenantius  at  Caer  Britoe,  Cuno- 
belyne  at  sundarie  places,  butte  notte  at  Caer  Brytoe, 
Arvyragus  at  Caer  B^toe,  Maryus  at  Caer  Brytoe, 
Bassianus  at  Caer  Brytoe.  Syke  was  the  multitude  of 
monies  bie  them  coyned  upon  vyctoryes  and  sykelyke 
that  neyther  anie  kynge  tyll  Arthurres  tyme  coyned 
quantity  of  metalles  for  anie  use  nor  dyd  Arthurre 
make  monie  but  a peece  of  Sylverre  toe  be  worne 
rounde  of  those  who  han  wonne  honnour  in  batelles. 
Edelbarte  kynge  of  Kente  was  the  fyrste  chrystenned 
kynge  and  coyner  in  Kent,  Chaulyn  or  Ceaulynne  of 
the  Weste  Saxonnes,  Arpenwaltus  of  the  Easte  An- 
gles, ^theldfr}"de  of  the  north  Humbres,  and  Wul- 
ferus  of  the  Mercians.  The  piece  coyned  by  the  Sax- 
onnes was  clepen  pennyes  thryce  the  value  of  our 
pennyes.  In  Adelstanes  reygn  were  two  coyners  in 
VOL.  II.  23 


354 


PROSE  MISCELLANIES. 


Bryghstowe  and  one  at  Wyckewarre  at  which  two 
places  was  made  a peece  yclepen  twain  penny. 

Golde  was  not  coyned  tyll  the  tyme  of  Edwardus  but 
Byzantes  of  Constantinople  was  in  ure,  some  whereof 
contayned  fower  markas  or  mankas,  some  two,  some 
one,  and  some  less  and  more.  Robert  Rouse  Erie  of 
Gloucester  had  hys  mynte  at  Brystowe  and  coyned  the 
best  monie  of  anie  of  the  Baronnes.  Henrie  Secun- 
dus  graunted  to  the  Lord  of  Bristowe  Castle  the  ryghte 
of  coynynge,  and  the  coynynge  of  the  lord  wente  cur- 
raunte  unto  the  reigne  of  Henricus  the  thyrde ; the 
coyns  was  onne  one  syde  a rampaunte  lyonne  withynne 
a strooke  or  bende  Sinyster  and  on  the  other  the  arms 
of  Brightstowe. 

Eke  had  the  maioure  lybertie  of  coyneyng  and  did 
coyne  several  coynes,  manie  of  whyche  are  in  mie  sec- 
onde  roUe  of  monies. — Kynge  Henricus  sext,  olfred 
Maystre  Canynge  the  ryghte  of  coynynge,  whyche  hee 
refused,  whereupon  Galfridus  Ocamlus  who  was  wyth 
Mayster  Canynge  and  mieself  concerning  the  saide 
ryghte,  saieth,  “ Naie  bie  St.  Pauls  Crosse  hadde  I such 
an  offre,  I would  coyne  lead  and  make  ne  law,  hynd- 
rynge  Hyndes  takyng  it.”  No  doubte  (sayde  Mayster 
CanyngeJ  but  you’d  dyspend  Heaven  to  gette  goulde, 
but  I dyspende  Goulde  to  get  Heaven.t 

> “ This  curious  account,”  says  the  credulous  Mr.  Barrett, 
“ is  an  exact  transcript  from  the  writing  on  vellum,  which  hav- 
ing all  the  external  marks  of  antiquity  to  give  it  the  credit  of 
an  original,  could  not  be  passed  by,  however  readers  may 
differ  in  their  opinions.  If  genuine  and  authentic,  it  proves, 

“1st.  That  besides  the  authorities  above  recited  for  the 
Caer  Brito  of  Nennius  being  the  city  of  Bristow,  British 
money  was  coined  here  with  that  name  inscribed,  though 
hitherto  unnoticed.  ( !) 


OF  THE  FORME  OF  MONIES. 


355 


“ 2dly.  That  coins  of  Bassianus  and  others,  * have  been 
dolven  wythynn  its  walles,*  besides  the  quantities  of  coins 
of  other  Roman  Emperors,  which  have  been  found  so  fre- 
quently very  near  it.  ( I ! ) 

“ 3dly.  That  many  coins  of  Saxon  Kings  have  been  thrown 
np,  on  opening  the  ground,  in  the  very  streets  of  Bristol.  ( ! ! !) 

“ From  all  this  the  antiquity  of  the  city  of  Bristol  is  ftiUy 
demonstrated.  (!!!!)’* 


VROSE  MISCELLANIES. 


3oo 


PROCLAMA^nON.x 

To  all  cliristian  people  to  whom  this  intended  writ* 
hig  shall  come,  WiUiam  Canynge  of  Bristol,  merchant, 
and  Thomas  Rowley,  priest,  send  greeting.  Whereas 
certain  disputes  have  arisen  between  the  Prior  of  St. 
James,  and  Johan  a Milverton,  steward  of  the  Bonne- 
hommes,  concerning  the  Unity  in  Trinity,  which  after 
many  vain  arguments  asserted  to  invalidate  the  God- 
head of  our  blessed  Redeemer  by  him,  the  said  John 
a Milverton,  he  hath  referred  it  to  our  decision,  and 
the  said  Prior,  conscious  of  the  truth,  when  he  main- 
tains that  Christ  is  God,  had  agreed  to  the  same.  As 
what  is  above  human  comprehension  can  neither  be 
proved  nor  disproved  by  human  arguments,  it  is  vain 
for  the  wit  of  man  to  pretende  to  unfolde  the  dark 
covering  of  the  ark  of  the  Trinity,  lest  Hke  those  of 
old  he  be  stricken  dead  and  his  reason  lost  by  breath- 
ing in  an  element  too  fine  and  subtle  for  the  gross 
nature.  But  as  the  said  John  continues  to  spread 
about  his  detestable  heresy  of  the  Unity  alone  of  God, 
notwithstanding  John  Carpenter,  Bishop  of  Worcester, 

1 From  a MS.  in  Chatterton’s  handwriting  in  the  British 
Museum.  We  may  suppose  that  Chatterton,  as  soon  as  con- 
venient, would  have  antiquated  these  documents  by  the  sub- 
stitution of  old  words.  There  are  many  of  the  same  kind 
among  his  MS.  of  which  this  and  the  following  may  be  taken 
AS  specimens. 


PROCLAMATION. 


357 


unwilling-  any  man  should  die  for  an  opinion,  gave  him 
his  life  and  liberty,  forfeit  to  the  Holy  Church ; though 
we  William  Canynge  and  Thomas  Rowley  approve  not 
of  invalidating  arguments  by  violence  and  death,  pro- 
vided a man  enjoys  his  opinion  alone ; yet  when  he 
goes  about  to  persuade  others  from  the  right  way,  and 
speaks  openly  of  the  terrestrial  being  of  Christ,  a bri- 
dle should  be  laid  on  his  tongue.  The  weak  and  igno- 
rant catch  at  every  thing  they  understand  not ; and  as 
the  said  John  as  aforesaid  doth  still  continue  to  preach 
his  heretical  notions,  we  by  power  to  us  assigned  by  the 
said  Bishop  of  Worcester,  command  him  the  said  John, 
on  pain  of  imprisonment,  not  to  teach  or  preach  in 
public  or  private  till  we  give  him  leave  so  to  do.  And 
the  said  T.  Rowley  will  on  Sunday  at  St.  Mary’s  Cross 
in  the  glebe  of  St.  Mary  Redclift  deliver  a discourse 
on  the  Trinity,  so  far  as  it  shall  tend  to  confute  the 
doctrine  of  the  said  John : after  the  matin  song,  and 
after  even  song,  the  said  John  shall  be  at  liberty,  with- 
out fear  of  imprisonment  or  other  punishment,  to 
answer,  and  if  he  can,  to  invalidate  the  arguments  of 
the  said  T.  Rowley,  a copy  of  his  discourse  to  be  given 
to  Mr.  Canynge  for  the  inspection  of  himself,  the  said 
T.  Rowley,  the  prior  and  monks  of  St.  James,  and 
whom  it  may  concern : and  whereas  thirteen  brothers 
v)f  the  order  of  the  Bonnehommes  did  attack  and  cru- 
elly beat  William  Cooke  and  five  other  servitours  of 
the  Monastery  of  St.  Augustines,  because  they  were 
such;  and  John  said  Bishop  of  Worcester  hath  given 
us  William  Canynge  and  Thomas  Rowley  as  Ecclesi- 
astical Knights  Templars  of  Saint  John  of  Jerusalem, 
power  to  search  into  the  same  and  amerce  the  offend- 
ers ; we  hereby,  as  well  as  by  a greater  deed  to  which 


1)58  PROSE  MISCELLANIES. 

is  fixed  the  mayoralty  seal  of  Bristol,  our  ecclesiastical 
Beal,  and  the  seals  of  the  principals  of  St.  John’s,  St. 
Augustines,  St.  James  and  the  Calendarys,  do  amerce 
each  of  the  said  thirteen  Monks  in  the  sum  of  fifty 
marks,  to  be  given  to  William  Coke  and  his  fellow  ser- 
vants in  equal  portions.  Witness  our  ecclesiastical 
seals. 


DEED  OF  A FOUNDATION,  &C. 


359 


DEED  OF  A FOUNDATION 

OF  AN  ADDITIONAL  COLLEGE  AT  WESTBURY.' 

To  all  Christian  people  to  whom  this  indented  writ- 
ing shall  come,  Thomas  Rotherham,  under  God  and 
the  holy  Father  of  the  Church,  Bishop  of  the  see  of 
Rochester;  John  Carpenter,  Bishop  of  the  see  of 
Worcester ; John  Booth,  Bishop  of  the  see  of  Exeter ; 
Sir  William  Canynge,  Dean  of  St.  George's  college  at 
Westbury  upon  Trim,  and  Knight  Templar  of  St 
John  of  Jerusalem : and  John  Iscam,  chauntry  priest. 
Now  KNOAV  YE,  that  we,  the  aforesaid  Thomas,  John, 
William,  and  Thomas,  having  assembled  the  third  day 
after  the  feast  of  Easter,  at  Westbury,  in  the  house  of 
the  said  bishop  of  Worcester,  having  maturely  (Consid- 
ered all  the  circumstances  attending  such  a design,  and 
estimated  the  expence,  have,  for  the  love  we  bear  unto 
holy  Church  and  all  things  thereunto  belonging,  resolv- 
ed to  build  a new  College  to  be  adjoining  to  the  left 
wing  of  the  college  lately  founded  by  the  late  John  of 
Worcester  and  Sir  William. — The  lands  proposed  for 
the  said  buildings,  its  gardens,  cloisters,  and  other  out- 
lets, being  four  acres  square,  and  belonging  to  Thomas 
of  Rochester,  is  by  him  the  said  Thomas,  hereby  given 
to  Sir  William  and  Sir  Thomas  Rowley,  intended 
builders  and  endowers  of  the  said  additional  college. 

The  said  Thomas  of  Rochester,  John  of  Worcester, 
Rnd  John  of  Exeter,  do  absolve  Wm.  Canynge,  fatlier, 

1 From  a MS.  in  Chatterton’s  handwriting  in  the  British 
Museum. 


360 


PROSE  MISCELLANIES. 


and  Kobert  Canynge,  brother  to  the  said  Sir  William, 
from  all  sins  by  them  committed  during  their  life,  as  by 
power  of  the  Holy  Father  of  the  Church  they  are  en- 
abled so  to  do.  They,  the  said  Sir  William  and  Sir 
Thomas  do  give  to  the  building  thereof  2000  marks  in 
equal  portions,  to  be  paid  by  William  or  his  heir  ap- 
parent to  the  master  builders  and  carpenters  employed 
in  the  same:  and  we  shall  superintend  the  whole. 
John  of  Worcester,  testified  by  his  seal  ecclesiastic 
hereunto  set,  gives  the  master  or  principal  for  the  time 
being,  the  priests  dues  upon  the  holy  offerings  made  in 
the  Easter  of  the  churches  of  St.  Martin  and  the  chan- 
cels of  Saint  Gregory,  Saint  Mary,  and  Saint  Elphage, 
in  the  city  of  Worcester. 

John  of  Exeter  gives  the  master,  witnessed  by  seal 
ecclesiastical,  the  offerings  of  three  chancels  at  Teign- 
mouth,  three  at  Exmouth,  and  two  at  Exeter,  at  the 
choice  of  the  master.  John  Iscam  to  be  master  of  the 
college  when  finished,  and  to  instruct  the  brethren  in 
grammar,  philosophy,  and  architecture ; and  for  that 
purpose  purchase  MSS.  relating  to  the  said  sciences,  at 
the  expence  of  Thomas  Kowley,  who  will  adorn  the 
Boc-hord  or  library  with  gilt  wood.  Also  at  the  ex- 
pence of  T.  Rowley,  an  instrument  of  the  new  invented 
art  of  marking  letters,  to  be  made  and  set  up  there. 

The  brethren,  being  20  in  number,  shall  be  advanced 
in  degrees  as  they  advance  in  learning,  and  incorpo- 
rated with  the  college  of  30  brethren  founded  by  John 
of  Worcester  and  Sir  Thomas,  under  the  same  laws 
enacted,  be  by  the  same  master,  John  Iscam,  governed, 
who  shall  receive  an  additional  stipend  of  40  marks 
oer  annum. 

The  badge  of  the  College  to  be  a cross,  gules,  on  a 


DEED  OF  A FOUNDATION,  &C.  361 

field  argent ; and  the  brethren,  being  frce-masons,  to 
observe  the  rules  of  Canynge’s  Ked  Lodge.  After 
the  death  of  Thomas  Kowley,  his  estate,  now  computed 
5000  marks,  to  devolve  to  the  College,  to  the  further 
emoluments  of  40  of  the  most  learned  brethren.  The 
estates  to  be  purchased  with  it  to  lie  in  Somersetshire. 
And  John  Iscam,  for  himself  and  his  successors,  doth 
promise  that  the  said  T.  Rowley  shall  be  buried  in  the 
isle  near  the  canon’s  seat  in  the  church  of  Westbury, 
with  a fair  ruby  ring  on  his  finger,  and  over  his  head 
a portraiture  of  his  arms.  Argent  on  a chief,  or,  a 
spear  rowel  gules.  Sir  William  Canynge  gives  at  his 
death  400  marks  for  the  further  emoluments  of  the 
remaining  10  unlearned  brethren. 

If  the  settling  the  new  brethren  exceed  2000  marks, 
Sir  Thomas  Rowley  doth  hereby  covenant  to  make  up 
the  deficiency,  and  also  to  furnish  the  chapel  with  palls, 
and  the  house  and  refectory  with  furniture.  The 
master,  after  the  decease  of  Iscam,  to  be  chosen  by 
the  brethren,  although  not  considered  as  master  till 
their  choice  is  ratified  by  the  Bishop  of  Worcester  for 
the  time  being. 

In  witness  of  the  truth  of  the  above  we  have  all  of 
us  hereunto  set  our  public  or  private  seals,  as  the  law 
in  this  case  requires,  in  the  8th  year  of  the  reign  of 
King  Edward. 

Endowed, 

Hereunto  is  fastened  the  ground-plot  view^  elevation^ 
and  section  of  the  intended  college. 

1468. 


362 


PROSE  MISCELLANIES. 


FRAGMENT  OF  A SERMON. 

BY  ROWLEY.l 

Havynge  whylomme  ynn  dyscourse  provedd,  orr 
soughte  toe  proove,  the  deitie  of  Chryste  bie  hys 
workes,  names,  and  attributes,  I shalle  in  nexte  place 
seeke  to  proove  the  deeitie  of  Holye  Spryte.  Manne 

1 This  fragment  was  printed  in  the  Gentleman’s  Magazine 
for  April,  1782,  with  this  note  annexed.  “ The  following  frag- 
ment has  been  produced  as  a transcript  from  a sermon  by 
Thomas  Rowley,  Priest,  of  the  fifteenth  century.  There 
being  little  reason,  however,  to  suppose  that  Chatterton,  who 
apparently  forged  all  the  other  pieces  attributed  to  this  occult 
personage,  could  be  the  immediate  author  of  such  a perfor- 
mance, to  learn  from  whence  the  groundwork  of  it  was  bor- 
rowed is  the  object  of  the  present  insertion.  If  any  person 
who  has  leisure  and  opportunity  should  happen,  in  the  course 
of  his  researches  after  things  of  greater  moment,  to  make 
such  a discovery,  and  will  communicate  satisfactory  proof  of 
it  through  the  channel  of  this  Magazine ; as  a small  acknowl- 
edgment for  his  trouble,  a set  of  books  chosen  by  himself, 
and  of  three  guineas  value,  shall  be  at  the  service  of  the 
earliest  satisfactory  communicator.” 

The  words  ascribed  to  Cyprian  are  supposed  not  to  belong 
to  that  Father.  They  are  taken  from  a tract,  De  Cardinalibm 
Christi  Operibus,  formerly  imagined  to  be  Cyprian’s,  but  long 
since  rejected  by  the  best  critics,  and  attributed  by  Bishop 
Fell  to  Arnold  of  Chartres,  Abbot  of  Beauval,  a contempo- 
rary and  friend  of  St.  Bernard,  A.  d.  1160.  See  the  citation 
of  Arnold’s  Works,  as  printed  in  the  Appendix  to  Fell’s  edi 
tion  of  Cyprian,  p.  60,  De  Spiriiu  Sancto, 


Rowley’s  sermon. 


363 


iQOste  bee  supplyedd  wytbe  Holye  Spryte  toe  have 
communyonn  rygbtfullye  of  tbynges  wbycbe  bee  of 
Godde.  Soyncte  PauUe  prayethe  the  Holye  Spryte 
toe  assyste  hys  flocke  ynn  these  wordes,  The  Holye 
Sprytes  communyonn  hee  wythe  you.  Lette  us  dhere 
desyerr  of  hymm  to  ayde  us,  I ynne  unplyteynge  and 

In  the  number  of  the  same  Magazine  for  the  followiiig 
month  there  appeared  this  solution  of  the  difficulty : — 

“ Wrexham^  May  14. 

“Mk.  Urban:  I will  not  be  confident  that  I have  discov- 
ered the  groundwork  of  the  fragment  inquired  after,  p.  177 1 
but,  if  your  correspondent  consults  the  latter  of  two  sermons 
on  the  ‘ Deity  of  the  Son  and  Holy  Spirit^'  by  the  Rev.  Caleb 
Evans  of  Bristol,  printed  for  Buckland,  1766,  he  will  find  the 
beginning  very  similar  to  the  fragment ; and  also,  upon  reading 
the  former,  that  Mr.  Evans’s  proof  of  the  Deity  of  Christ  is 
agreeable  to  Rowley’s  reference.  If,  too,  he  reads  p.  72  of  the 
above  sermon,  Mr.  Evans  quotes  Herman  Witsius,  a Dutch 
divine ; the  quotation  is  from  his  Exercitationes  in  Symbolum. 
Now,  whether  Chatterton’s  inquisitive  genius  did,  (as  he 
easily  might,)  understand  so  much  Latin  as  to  dip  into  Wit- 
sius, or  might  get  it  translated,  it  is  certain  that*  the  very 
address  to  the  Spirit,  said  to  be  from  St.  Cyprian,  is  in  the 
beginning  of  Exercit.  xxiii.,  and  is  introduced  in  almost  the 
same  words  as  in  Rowley’s  fragment.  I observe,  further, 
that  Witsius  has,  Sect,  xxxii.,  Rowley’s  argument  ‘ Seyncte 
Raulle  sayeth  yee  are  the  temple  of  Godde,’  &c.,  and  speaks 
of  the  ‘ personne,  giftes,  operatyonns,  &c.  of  the  Holy  Spryte,’ 
all  which  Chatterton  might  acquire  by  a very  shallow  ac- 
quaintance with  Latin,  and  indeed  most  of  them  by  only 
reading  the  table  prefixed  to  the  Exercitation.  I will  not  say 
where  he  got  the  curious  notion,  that  it  wiU  be  the  peculiar 
office  of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  ‘ destroye  * the  * worlde  ’ (perhaps 
it  was  Mr.  Chatterton’s  own^)  nor  yet  whence  he  had  the 
extract  from  St.  Gregoiy;  but  your  correspondent  will  be 


864 


PROSE  MISCELLANIES. 


you  ynn  understandynge  hys  deeite ; lette  us  saye  wytne 
Seyncte  Cyprian,  Adesto^  Sancte  Spiritus,  ^ paraclesin 
tuam  expectantilms  illabere  ccelitus  ; sanciijica  templum 
corporis  nostril  ^ consecra  inhahitaculum  tuum,  Seyncte 
Paulle  sayethe  yee  are  the  temple  of  Godde ; for  the 
Spryte  of  Godde  dwellethe  ynn  you.  Gyff  yee  are  the 
temple  of  Godde  alleyne  bie  the  dwellynge  of  the  Spryte, 
wote  yee  notte  that  the  Spryte  ys  Godde,  ande  playne 
proofe  of  the  personne  and  glorye  of  the  thryrde  per- 
Bonne.  The  personne,  gyftes,  operatyonns,  glorye, 
and  deeitie,  are  all  ynn  Holye  Spryte,  as  bee  prooved 
fromm  diffraunt  textes  of  Scrypture;  beeynge,  as 
Seyncte  Peter  sayethe,  of  the  same  essentyall  matterr 
as  the  Fadre  ande  Sonne,  whoe  are  Goddes,  the  Holye 
Spryte  moste  undisputably  bee  Godde.  The  Spryte 
orr  dyvyne  will  of  Godde  mooved  uponn  the  waterrs 
att  the  creatyonn  of  the  worlde ; thys  meanethe  the 
Deeitie.  I sayde,  ynn  mie  laste  discourse,  the  promyse 
of  Chryste,  whoe  wythe  Godde  the  Fadre  wolde  dwelle 
ynn  the  soughle  of  his  decyples ; howe  coulde  heie 
soe  but  bie  myssyonn  of  Holye  Spryte  ? Thys  me- 
thynkethe  prooveth  ne  alleyne  the  personallitie  of 
Holye  Spryte,  but  the  verrie  foundatyonne  and 
grounde  wurch  of  the  Trinitie  yttselfe.  The  Holye 
Spryte  cannot  bee  the  goode  thynges  ande  vyrtues  of 
a maims  mynde,  sythence  bie  hymm  wee  bee  toe  fast 

struck  with  the  similarity,  I was  going  to  say,  sameness^  of 
the  supposed  Rowley’s  reasoning,  that  ‘the  Holy  Spryte  can- 
not bee  the  goode  thynges  and  vyrtues  of  a man’s  mynde  * 
with  that  of  Mr.  Evans,  p.  67-60.  Is  not  the  expression, 
*eiiy  of  ike  SpiHt,  more  modern  than  the  fifteenth  century  7 
But  it  is  in  the  beginning  of  Mr.  Evans’  Sermon. 

“Yours,  &c.  An  Enquirer.” 


Rowley’s  sermon. 


365 


keepe  yese  goode  thynges ; gyff  wee  bee  toe  keepe  a 
vyrtue  bie  tbatte  vyrtue  ytt  selfe,  meethynckes  tbe 
custos  bee  notte  fytted  toe  tbe  charge.  The  Spryte 
orr  Godde  ys  the  auctoure  of  those  goode  thynges  and 
bie  hys  obeisaunce  dheie  mote  alleyne  bee  helde.  1 
male  notte  be  doltysh  ne  hereticalle  toe  sale,  whate 
wee  calle  consyence  ys  the  hyltren  warninge  of  the 
Spryte,  to  forsake  our  evylle  waies  before  he  dothe 
solely  leave  our  steinedd  soughles.  Nete  bee  a greaterr 
proofe  of  mie  argument  thann  the  wurchys  of  Holye 
Spryte.  Hee  createdd  manne,  hee  forslaggen  hymm, 
hee  agayne  raysedd  mann  fromm  the  duste,  ande 
havethe  savedd  all  mankynde  fromme  eterne  rewynn ; 
he  raysedd  Chryste  fromme  the  dea,de,  hee  made  the 
worlde,  and  hee  shalle  destroy e ytt.  Gyff  the  Spryte 
bee  notte  Godde,  howe  bee  ytt  the  posessynge  of  the 
Spryte  dothe  make  a manne  sayedd  toe  bee  borne  of 
Godde?  Ytt  requyreth  the  powerr  of  Godde  toe 
make  a manne  a new  creatyonn,  yette  suche  dothe  the 
Spryte.  Thus  sayethe  Seyncte  Gregorie  Naz.  Of  the 
Spryte  and  hys  wurchys;  Tevarai  Xpiarog'  TTporpex^i* 
Bann^erai  * fiapTVpsl  • HeLpa^eTai  • avayel  • Lwapeig 
^vfiTrapapapTel  • Avepxerat? 


^ The  Greek  quotation  from  Gregory  Nazianzen  contains 
in  itself  the  most  unquestionable  proof  that  it  was  not  copied 
from  any  MS.  of  the  fifteenth  century.  It  will  be  allowed,  I 
presume,  that  Chatterton  could  only  copy  the  characters 
which  he  found  in  the  originals.  He  had  no  skill  to  vary  the 
forms  of  the  letters,  to  combine  those  which  were  apart,  or 
to  separate  those  which  were  connected  together.  We  may 
be  certain,  therefore,  that  his  transcript  (involuntary  errors 
vscepted)  was  in  all  respects  as  like  to  his  archetype  as  he 
<ould  make  it.  But  his  transcript  differs  totally  from  all  the 


566 


PROSE  MISCELLANIES. 


Fpecimens  which  I have  ever  seen  of  Greek  writing  in  the 
fifteenth  century.  It  appears  to  me  to  have  been  evidently 
copied  from  a printed  book.  Tyrwhitt. 

Mr.  Tyrwhitt  has  annexed  a fac-simile  of  the  MS.  in  Chat- 
terton’s  handwriting  with  the  Greek  attached,  from  which 
any  reader  can  judge  for  himself  The  Greek  quotation  is 
from  Greg.  Nazian.  Orat.  xxx.  v.  i.  p.  610.  edit.  Paris,  1639. 
in  Chatterton’s  fragment,  the  sentence  is  left  imperfect  fox 
want  of  the  verb  diadex^TOL, 


EXTRACTS  FROM  CHAUCER. 


367 


EXTRACTS  FROM  CHAUCER.^ 

But  great  harme  was  ytt  as  it  thouglite  me. 
That  on  his  skinne  a mormall  had  he. 

Chaucer’s  ckarac.  Coke. 

Rounde  was  his  face  and  camisde  was  his  nose. 

Reeve’s  Tale. 


Sounde  of  men  at  labor. 

To  plaies  of  miracles  and  to  maryages. 

Wyfe  of  Bathe,  Prologue. 

Doe  come  he  saied  mye  minstrales, 

And  jestours  for  to  tellen  us  tales, 

Anon  yn  mine  armynge, 

Of  romaunces  that  been  reials, 

Of  Popes  and  of  Cardinauls, 

And  eeke  of  love  longing. 

Rime  of  Sir  Thopas. 

Of  all  mannere  of  minstrales 
And  jestours  that  tellen  tales, 

1 From  a MS.  in  Chattertou’s  handwriting  in  the  British 
Museum. 

[These  extracts  are  worth  preserving,  as  they  evidence 
Chatterton’s  acquaintance  with  Speght  and  Chaucer,  and 
show  that  his  habit  was  to  transcribe  such  passages  as  he 
afterwards  intended  to  introduce  in  his  works.  At  the  end 
of  the  Antiquity  of  Christmas  Games,  he  has  printed  two  of 
the  above  extracts.  Southey’s  Edition.'] 


368 


PROSE  MISCELLANIES. 


Both  of  weeping  and  of  yame, 

And  of  all  that  longeth  unto  fame. 

The  Third  Book  of  Fame. 

Chaucer,  when  of  the  Inner  Temple,  as  appears  by 
the  record,  was  fined  two  shillings  for  beating  a Fran- 
ciscan Friar  in  Fleet  street 

Speght. 


GLOSSARY. 


I'he  words  of  which  the  significations  were  given  by  Chat 
terton  have  the  letter  G affixed  to  them. 


Abessie,  humility,  C. 

Aborne,  burnished,  C. 
Abounde,  do  service,  oi'  beneJiU 
Abomie,  make  ready,  C. 
Abredynge,  upbraiding,  C. 
Abrewe,  brew, 

Abrodden,  abi'uptly,  C. 

Acale,  freeze,  C. 

Accaie,  assuage,  C. 

Acheke,  choke,  G.  [The 
participle  acheked  is  in 
Kersey.] 

Achevments,  services,  C. 
Achments,  atchievemerds,  C. 
Acome,  come, 

Kcxoo\,  faintly,  C. 

Adave,  dawned  upon, 

Adawe,  awake, 

Adeene,  worthily, 

fastened,  G. 

Adentedj/as^ened,  annexed,  C. 
Adented,  indented,  bruised, 
Aderne,  cruel,  fierce, 

Adigne,  noble,  worthy, 

4doe,  delay, 

^dradde,  afraid, 

VOL.  II. 


A. 

Adrames,  churls,  G.  [This 
word  is  unauthorized.  The 
adjective  adraming,  chur- 
lish, is  to  be  found  in  old 
writers,  and  likewise  in 
Bailey.] 

Adrewe,  drew, 

Adventaile,  armour,  G- 
Adygne,  nervous;  worthy  of 
praise,  G. 

.Sterne,  eternal, 

Affere,  to  affright  or  terrify, 
Affraie,  affright,  G. 

Affraie,  to  fight  or  engage  in 
a fray,  G. 

Afiynd,  related  by  marriage, 
Afleme,  as  fieme  ; to  drive 
away,  to  affright. 

After  la  goure,  should  proba- 
bly be  astrelagour  ; astrolo- 
ger. 

Agested,  heaped  up, 

Agguylte,  offended, 

Agleeme,  to  shine  upon, 
Agrame,  grievance,  G. 
Agreme,  torture,  G. 


370 


GLOSSARY. 


Agreme,  grievance^  C. 
Agrosed,  agrised;  terrified, 
Agroted,  see  grated. 

Agylted,  offended,  C. 

Aidens,  aidance, 

Aiglintine,  sweet-brier, 

Ake,  oak,  C. 

Alans,  bounds, 

Alatche,  accuse, 

Aledge,  idly, 

Alenge,  along. 

Alest,  lest, 

Alestake,  a may-pole. 

All  a boon,  a manner  of  ask- 
ing a favour,  C. 

Allaie,  was  allayed  or  stopped, 
AUaie  used  as  a verb  neu- 
ter. 

Alleyn,  only,  C. 

Aimer,  beggar,  C. 

Alofe,  aloft. 

Alse,  else. 

Alyche,  like,  C, 

Alyne,  across  his  shoulders,  C. 
Alyse,  allow,  set  free,  C. 
[Chutterton  probably  took 
this  word  from  Kersey : 
Alised,  allowed.  “ From 
whence  Kersey  took  it  is 
less  material ; but  I am  in- 
clined to  believe  that  it  was 
formed  originally  from  a 
mistaken  reading  of  the 
article  Aliped  in  Skinner. 
The  very  distinct  significa- 
tions of  the  two  words  are 
thus  stated  by  Verstegan, 
p.  227.  Aliped,  allowed, 
licensed. — Alise,  release. — 


Alised,  released.” — 1 VR- 

WHITT.] 

Amate,  destroy,  C. 

Amayld,  enameled,  C. 

Amede,  recompence, 

Ameded,  rewarded.,  C. 

Amenged,  as  menged,  mixed. 

Amenused,  diminished,  C. 

Ametten,  met  with. 

Amield,  ornameTited,  enamel- 
ed, C. 

Aminge,  among. 

Aneighe,  near. 

Aneste,  against, 

Anente,  against,  C. 

Anere,  another,  C. 

Anete,  annihilate. 

Anie,  as  nie,  nigh. 

Anlace,  an  ancient  sword,  C. 

Annethe,  beneath,  C. 

Applynges,  grafted  trees,  C 
apple-trees. 

Arace,  divest,  C. 

Arblaster,  a cross-bow. 

Arcublaster,  a cross-bow. 

Arcublastries,  cross-bowmen. 

Ardurous,  burning. 

Aredynge,  thinking,  reading 
Qu.  ? 

Argenthorse,  the  arms  of 
Kent,  C. 

Arist,  arose,  C. 

Armlace,  accoutrement  foi'  th( 
arms. 

Armourbrace,  a suit  oj  ar- 
mour. 

Arrow-lede,  path  of  the  ar 
row. 

Ascaunce,  disdainfully,  C. 


GLOSSARY. 


371 


Ascaunse,  c^liquely* 
Asenglave,  a lance, 

Askaunte,  obliquely, 
Askaunted,  glanced, 

Aslape,  asleep, 

Aslauiite,  slaunting. 

Aslee,  slide  or  creep, 

Assayle,  oppose, 

Asseled,  answered^  C. 
Asshrewed,  accursed,  unfor- 
tunate, C. 

Asswaie,  to  assay,  put  to  trial. 
Astarte,  started  from,  o?* 
afraid  of  Qu.  neglected  t 
Astedde,  seated,  C. 

Astend,  astonish,  C. 

Asterte,  neglected,  C. 

Astoun,  astonished,  C. 
Astounde,  astonish,  C. 
Astounded,  astonished, 
Astrodde,  astride,  mounted, 
Asyde,  perhaps  astyde ; as- 
cended. 

Athrowe,  through. 

Athur,  as  thurgh;  through, 
athwart. 


Attenes,  at  once,  C. 

Attoure,  turn,  C. 

Attoure,  around, 

Attume,  to  turn. 

Aucthoure,  author, 

Ave,  for  eau,  Fr.  water. 

Avele,  prevail. 

Aumere,  a loose  robe  or  man- 
tle, C.  [The  proper  signifi 
cation  is  purse.  Chatter- 
ton’s  interpretation  was 
derived  from  Kersey,  or 
Bailey,  where  we  have, 
Aumere,  0-welt,  skirt,  or 
border.] 

Aumeres,  borders  of  gold  and 
silver,  &c.  C. 

Aunture,  as  aveniure ; ad- 
venture. 

Aure,  Or,  the  colour  of  gold 
in  heraldry. 

Autremere,  a loose,  white  robe, 
worn  by  pi'iests,  C. 

Awhaped,  astonished,  C. 

Aynewarde,  backwards,  C. 


B. 


Balefull,  vx)eful,  lamentable, 

C. 

Bane,  curse, 

Baned,  cursed, 

Bankes,  benches. 

Bante,  cursed. 

Barb’d,  armed. 

Barbde  haulle,  hall  hung  round 
vyith  armour. 

Barbe  beard. 


Barbed  (horse;,  covered  with 
armour. 

Baren,  barren. 

Barga  lette,  a song,  ballad,  C. 

Barriere,  confne,  boundary. 

Ban'owes,  tombs,  mounds  of 
earth. 

Batauvt,  a stringed  instru- 
ment, played  on  vyith  a plec- 
trum. Qu.  ? 


872 


GLOSSARY. 


Battayles,  boatSy  ships,  Fr. 
Batten,  fatten,  C. 

Battent,  loudly-,  G. 

Battently,  hud  roaring,  C. 
Battone,  heat  with  sticks, 
Fr. 

Baubels,  G. 

Bawsin,  large,  C. 

Bayne,  ruin,  G. 

Bayre,  brow,  G. 

Beaver,  beaver,  or  visor » 

Beer,  bear, 

Beeveredd,  beavered,  C. 
Behesteynge,  commanding,  C. 
Behight,  name, 

Behylte,  promised,  G. 

Behylte,  ybr^acZe, 

Behyltren,  hidden, 

Belent,  stopped,  at  a fault  or 
stand. 

Beme,  trumpet. 

Bemente,  lament,  G. 

Benned,  cursed,  torment,  G. 
Benymmyng,  bereaving,  G. 
Berne,  child,  G. 

Berten,  venomous,  G. 

Beseies,  becomes,  G. 

Besprente,  scattered,  G. 
Bestoiker,  deceiver,  G.  [ Bailey 
has  the  word  to  bestoike,  to 
betray.] 

Bete,  bid,  G. 

Betrassed,  deceived,  imposed 
on,  G. 

Betraste,  betrayed,  G. 

Bevyle,  break,  a herald  term, 
signifying  a spear  broken  in 
tilting,  G. 

Bewrecke,  revenge,  G. 


Bewreen,  eapress,  G. 
Bewryen,  declared,  expi'essed.^ 

C. 

Bewryne,  declare,  G. 
Bewrynning,  declaring,  G. 
jewels,  G. 

Birlette,  a hood,  or  covering 
for  the  back  part  of  the 
head,  G. 

Rlake,  naked,  G. 

Blakied,  naked,  original,  C. 
Blanche,  white,  pure, 
Blaunchie,  white,  G. 
Blatauntlie,  hudly,  G. 

Blente,  ceased,  dead,  G. 
Blethe,  bleed,  G. 

Blynge,  cease,  G. 

Blyn,  cease,  stand  still,  G. 
Boddekin,  body,  substance,  C. 
Boleynge,  swelling,  G. 
Bollengers  and  Gottes,  differ 
ent  kinds  of  boats,  G. 

Boolie,  beloved,  G. 

Bordel,  cottage,  G. 

Bordelier,  cottager. 

Borne,  burnish,  G. 

Bonn,  make  ready,  G. 

Bounde,  ready,  G. 

Bourne,  boundary,  promontory. 
Bourne,  bounded,  limited, 
Bowke,  bowkie,  body,  G. 
Bowting  matche,  contest. 
Bismarelie,  curiously^  G. 
Braste,  burst. 

Brasteth,  bursteth,  G. 
Brasteynge,  bursting. 

Braunce,  branch,  G. 

Braunces,  branches,  G. 
Brauncynge,  branching. 


GLOSSARY. 


373 


Brayd,  displayed,  C. 

Brayde,  embroider, 

Brayne,  brain,  care. 

Brede,  broad,  C. 

Bredren,  brethren. 

Breme,  strength,  C. 

Breme,  strong,  C. 

Bremie,  furious. 

Brende,  burn,  consume,  C. 

flaming,  C. 
Bretfulj^/^ec?  with,  C. 
Brionie,  briony,  or  wild  vine. 
Broched,  pointed. 

Broiide,  fury,  or  sword. 
Brondeyn  ge,  ywnoMS. 
Brondeous,yMno2«,  G. 
Brooklette,  rivulet. 


Gale,  cold. 

Galke,  cast,  G. 

Galked,  cast  out,  G. 
Galtysning,  forbidding,  G. 
Games,  rocks,  stones.  Brit. 
Gastle-stede,  a castle,  G. 
Gastle-stere,  the  hold  of  a cos- 
tle. 

Gaties,  cates. 

Gaytysnede,  binding,  enforc- 
ing,  G. 

C slness,  coldness. 

Ghafe,  hx)t,  G. 

Ghaftes,  heats,  stamps,  G. 
Champion,  challenge,  C. 
Chaper,  dry,  sun-burnt,  C. 
Ohapournette,  a small  round 
hat,  G. 

Charie,  dear. 


Browded,  embroidered,  G. 
Brued,  embrued. 

Brutylle,  brittle^  frail. 
Brygandyne,  part  of  armor, 

C. 

Bryiinyng,  declaring,  C. 
Burled,  armed,  C. 

Burlie  bronde,ywr^,  anger,  C. 
Byelecoyle,  bel  accueil,  Fr.  the 
name  of  a personage  in  the 
Roman  de  la  Rose,  which 
Chaucer  has  rendered  fair 
welcoming. 

Byker,  battle. 

Bykrous,  warring,  C. 
Bysmare,  bewildered,  curious, 
C. 


Cheese,  chuse. 

Chefe,  heat,  rashness,  C. 
Chelandree,  goldfinch,  C. 
Cherisaunce,  comfort,  G. 
Cherisaunied,  comfortable. 
Cheves,  moves,  C. 

Chevysed,  ^reservec?,  C. 
Cheynedd,  chained,  restricted. 
Ghirckynge,  a confused  noise, 
C. 

Chop,  an  exchange. 

Choppe,  to  exchange. 

Choughe,  choughs,  ^’acMam 
Church-glebe-house,  grave,  C. 
Chyrche-glebe,  church-yard. 
Clangs,  sounds  hud. 

Cleme,  sound,  C. 

GleevQ,  famous. 

Clefs,  cliffs. 


374 


GLOSSARY. 


Cleped,  named. 

Clerche,  clergy. 

Clergyon,  cl&rk-  or  clergyman^ 

C. 

Clergyoii’d,  taught^  C. 

Clevis,  cleft  of  a roch. 

Cleyne,  sound. 

Clinie,  declination  of  the  body. 
Clymmynge,  noisy^  C. 
Compheeres,  companions^  C. 
Congeon,  dwarf  C. 

Contake,  dispute,  C. 

Conteins,  contents. 

Conteke,  confuse,  contend  with 
C. 

Contekions,  contentions,  C. 

Cope,  a cloTce,  C. 

Corteous,  worthy,  C. 

Corven,  see  ycorven. 

Cotte,  cut. 

Cottes,  see  bollengers. 

Cotteynge,  cutting, 

D. 

Dacya,  Denmark, 

Daie-brente,  burnt,  C. 
Daise-eyed,  daisied. 
Damoyselles,  damsels. 

Danke,  damp. 

Dareygne,  attempt,  endeavour, 

C. 

Darklinge,  dark. 

Daygnous,  disdainful,  0. 
Deathdoeynge,  murdering. 
Declynie,  declination. 

Decorn,  carved,  C. 

Deene,  glorious,  worthy,  C. 

Deere,  dire,  C. 

Defs,  vapours,  meteors,  C. 


Covent,  convent. 

Coupe,  cut,  C. 

Coupynge,  cutting,  mangling. 
Couraciers,  Itorse-coursers,  C. 
Coyen,  coy. 

Crasen,  broken. 

Cravent,  coward,  C. 

Creand,  as  recreand, 

Cristede,  crested. 

Croche,  cross,  C. 

Crokynge,  bending. 

Crocked,  perhaps  broched. 
Crokynge,  bending. 
Cross-stone,  monumeni,  0. 
Cryne,  hair,  C. 

Cuarr,  quarry. 

Cuishe,  armor  for  the  thigh. 
Cullis-yatte,  port-cullis  gate^ 
C. 

Cmrlfidowe,  flatterer,  C. 
Cuyen  kine,  tender  cows,  C 


Defayte,  decay,  C. 

Defte,  neat,  ornamental,  C. 
Deigned,  disdained,  C. 
Delievretie,  activity,  C. 

Dente,  see  adente. 

Dented,  see  adented. 

Denwere,  doubt,  C. 

Denwere,  tremmir,  C. 
Depeyncte,  paint,  display,  C. 
Depicted, painted,  or  displayed. 
C. 

Depyctures,  drawings,  painb 
ings,  C. 

Dequace,  mangle,  destroy.,  C 
Dequaced,  sunk,  quashed. 


GLOSSARY. 


375 


Dere,  hurt^  damage^  C. 

Derne,  melancholy^  terrible. 
Derkynnes,  young  deer. 

Deriiie,  woeful,  lamentable, 
Dernie,  cruel,  C. 

Deslavatie,  disloyal,  unfaithful. 
Deslavatie,  lechery,  C. 
Detratours,  traitors. 

Deysde,  seated  on  a dais, 
Dheie,  they. 

Dhere,  there. 

D hereof,  thereof. 

Difficile,  difficult,  C. 

Dighte,  drest,  arrayed,  C. 
Dispande,  expanded. 

Dispente,  expended. 

Dispone,  dispose. 

Divinistre,  divine,  C. 

Dolce,  soft,  gentle,  C. 

Dole,  lamentation,  C. 

Dolte,  yboM,  C. 

Donore.  This  line  should  prob- 
ably be  written  thus : 0 sea  • 
o' erteeming  Dovor  ! 
Dortoure,  a sleeping  room,  C. 
Dote,  perhaps  as  dighte. 
Doughtre  mere,  dtoutre  mer, 
Fr.,  from  beyond  sea. 
Draffs,  the  refuse,  or  what  is 
cast  away. 

Dreare,  dreary. 

Dree,  draw,  or  drive. 

Evjaw,  for  ydraw ; draw. 
Eeke,  amplif  cation,  exaggera- 
tion. 

Efte,  often,  again,  C. 
Eftsoones,  guickly,  0. 


Dreerie,  dreary,  terrible. 
Drefte,  least,  C. 

Drenche,  drink,  C. 

Dreiited,  drained,  C. 
Dreyncted,  drowned,  C. 
Dribblete,  small,  insignificant, 
C. 

Drierie  terrible. 

Drites,  rights,  liberties,  C. 
Droke,  dry. 

Drocke,  drink,  C. 

Droncke,  drank. 

Droorie,  courtship,  gallantry, 
C. 

Drooried,  courted. 

Dulce,  as  dolce, 

Duressed,  hardened,  C. 

Dyd,  should  probably  be 
dyghi. 

Dyghte,  as  dight. 

Dyghtynge,  as  dightynge. 
Dygne,  worthy,  C. 

Dygner,  more  worthy,  C. 
Dynning,  sounding,  C. 
Dyspendynge,  expending. 
Dyspense,  expence,  C. 
Dysperpellest,  scaiterest,  C. 
Dysporte, />Zeaswre,  C. 
Dysporteynge,  spoiling,  C. 
Dysportisement,  as  dysporte. 
-Dysregate,  to  break  connection 
or  fellowship.  Qu.  to  degrade! 

E. 

Egederinge,  assembling,  gath- 
ering, C. 

Eke,  also,  C. 

Ele,  help,  C. 

Eletten,  enlighten,  C. 


376 


GLOSSARY. 


Elmen,  elTm. 

Elocation,  elocution. 

Elves,  personages^  people, 
Emarschalled,  arranged. 
Emblaunched,  whitened^  G. 
Embody de,  thich^  stout. 
Embowre,  hdge^  0. 

Erabollsn,  swelled.,  strengthened., 
C. 

Emburled,  armed.,  0. 

Emmate,  lessen,  decrease,  Q. 
Emmertleynge,  glittering,  C. 
Emmers,  coined  money. 
Emprize,  adventure,  C. 
Empprize,  enterprise,  G. 
Enactynge,  acting, 

Enalse,  embrace,  G. 
Encaled,/ro2;en,  cold,  G. 
Enchafed,  heated,  enraged,  G. 
Encheere,  encourage. 
Encontrynge,  encountring. 
Enfouled,  vitiated,  poUuted. 
Engarlanded,  weaHng  a gar- 
land. 

Engyne,  torture. 

Engyned,  tortured. 

Enharme,  to  do  harm  to. 
Enheedynge,  taking  heed, 
Enhele,  heal. 

Enhepe,  add,  G. 

£nlefed,/wZ/  of  leaves. 
Enleme,  enlighten. 

YAiiXovfbdi,  famed,  fired,  G. 
Enrone,  unsheath. 

Enseme,  to  make  seams  in. 
Ensemeynge,  as  seeming. 
Enshone,  shewed. 


Enshoting,  shooting,  darting, 

G. 

Enstrote,  deserving  punithmenL 
Enswolters,  swallows,  sucks  in, 

Q. 

Enswote,  sweeten, 

Ensyrke,  encircle. 

Ent,  a purse  or  bag,  G. 
Entendemente,  understanding. 
Enthoghte,  thinking. 
Enthoghte,  thought  of. 
Enthoghteynge,  thinking. 
Entremed,  intermixed. 
Entrykeynge,  tricking. 

Entyn,  even,  G. 

Enryonnde,  worked  with  iron, 
G. 

Eraced,  banished,  erased, 

Erlie,  earl. 

Ermiett’s,  hermits,  G. 

Erste,  formerly. 

Estande,  for  ystande,  stand. 
Estells,  a corruption  of  estoile, 
Fr.,  a star,  G. 

Estrougbted,  stretched  out. 
Ethe,  ease,  G. 

Ethie,  easy. 

Evalle,  equal,  G. 

Eve-merk,  dark  evening. 
Evespeckt,  marked  with  eve 
ning  dew,  G. 

Everichone,  every  one,  G. 
Everyche,  every. 

Ewbrice,  adultery,  G. 
Ewbrycious,  lascivious. 
Eyne-gears,  objects  of  the  eyet^ 
Eynes-yghte,  eye-sight. 


GLOSSARY. 


377 


F. 


father, 

Fage,  tale,  jest,  C. 

Y2i\Q,  faith. 

Yvain\\y,  faithfully,  C. 
Faitour,  a beggar  or  vagabond, 

C. 

Faldstole,  a folding  stool,  or 
seat.  See  Du  Cange  in  v. 
Faldistorium. 

Far-kendj/ur  seen,  C. 

Fayre,  clear,  innocent, 
Featliest,  rrwst  beautiful, 
^edere  d , feathered, 

Ferre,  fire. 

YooriQ,  flaming,  0. 
Fele,/ee&^e,  C. 

Felle,  cruel,  bad. 

YoWqo,  fell. 

Ferse,  violent,  fierce. 

'FqvsoMq,  fiercely. 

Fetelie,  nobly,  C. 

Fetive,  sls  festive. 

Fetyve,  elegant,  beautiful. 
Fetyvelie,  elegantly,  C. 
Fetyveness./esfovewess. 
Feygne,  willing. 

Feygnes,  a corruption  of 
feints,  0. 

Yhmr,fury,  C. 

Fie,  d£fy,  C. 

Flaiten,  horrible,  or  undulating, 
Qu.? 

Flanched,  arched. 

fliers,  runaways. 
.t'leeting,  flying,  passing. 
Fleme,  to  terrify. 

frighted,  C. 


Flemie,  frightfully, 

Flemeynge,  terrifying 

YIquxs,  Jlowers. 

'P\\zzQ,fly,  C. 

Floe,  arrow,  C. 

Florryschethe,  blooms,  flour- 
ishes. 

Flott,  float,  C. 

Flotting,  floating,  or  undulat- 
ing. 

Floure  Seyncte  Mary,  wiory- 
gold,  C. 

Flourette,  C. 

Flytted,^ec?. 

Foile,  baffle,  C. 

Fons,  fonnes,  devices,  C. 

Fore,  before. 

Forefend,  forbid. 

Forgard,  lose,  C. 

YoxlQttQvi,  forsaken,  C. 

Forloyne,  retreat,  C. 

Forroy,  destroy. 

Forreying,  destroying,  C. 

Forslagen,  sZam,  C.  [Kersey  ] 

Forslege,  slay,  C. 

Forstraughte,  distracted, 

Forstraughteyng,  distracting, 
C. 

Forswat,  sunburnt,  [Prop- 
erly, much  sweated.  The 
misinterpretation  sun-burnt 
is  from  the  Gloss  of  E.  K. 
to  Spenser’s  Shepherd's  Cal 
endar.] 

Forweltring,  blasting,  C. 

Forwyned,  dried,  C. 

Foulke,  people. 


378 


GLOSSARY. 


¥omy^fury, 

Fowlyng,  dejiling, 

Frsiieyjight,  C. 

Fremde,  strange^  C. 

G. 

Gaberdyne,  a piece  of  armour^ 

C.  A cloak. 

GaWeLYd,  frighted,  C. 

Gare,  cause,  C. 

Gastness,  ghastliness. 

Gauntlette,  glove,  C. 

Gauntlette,  challenging, 

Geare,  apparel,  accoutrement. 
Geasonne,  rare,  extraordinary, 
strange,  C. 

Geer,  dress. 

Geete,  As  gite. 

Gelten,  guilded,  C. 

Gemot,  council. 

Gemote,  assembled,  C. 

Gerd,  broke,  rent,  C. 

Gies,  guides,  C. 

Gier,  a turn  or  twist. 

Gif,  if,  C. 

Gites,  robes,  mantles,  C. 

Glair,  shining,  clear. 

Glairie,  clear,  shining. 

Glare,  glitter,  C. 

Gledes,  glides, 

Gledeynge,  livid,  C. 

Gleme,  shine,  glimmer,  C. 
Glester,  to  shine. 

Glestreynge,  shining,  glittering. 
Glowib,  frown,  C. 

Glommed,  clouded,  dejecta'!,  0. 
Gloure,  glory,  C. 

Glowe,  shine,  gleam, 

Glytted,  shone,  or  glided,  Qu.  ? 


FremdQd,  frighted,  C. 

Fructile, 

FuiYQd,  furious. 

¥xiYQ\iQd,  forked. 

Gore-depycted,  painted  with 
blood. 

Gore-red,  red  as  blood. 

Gome,  garden,  0. 

Gottes,  drops. 

Gouler,  usurer. 

Goushynge,  gushing. 
Graiebarbes,  grey-beards,  C. 
Grange,  liberty  of  pasture,  C. 
Gratche,  apparel,  C. 

Grave,  chief  magistrate,  may^ 
or,  epithet  given  to  the  alder- 
men. Qu.? 

Gravots,  groves,  0. 

Gre,  grow,  C. 

Grees,  grows,  C. 

Greeynge,  growing, 

Grete,  greeted,  saluted, 
Groffile,  grovelling,  mean. 
GYO^yngQ\yQ,  foolishly,  vulgar 
ly,  abjectly. 

Groffyshe,  uncivil,  rude, 

Gron,  a fen,  moor,  C. 

Gronfer,  a meteor,  from  gron, 
a fen,  and  fer,  corruption 
oifire,  C. 

Gronfyres,  meteors,  C. 

Groted,  sioollen,  C. 

Gryne,  groin. 

Grypped,  grasped, 

Gule  depeyncted,  red  painted 
C. 

Gule  steynct,  red  stained,  C. 


GLOSSARY. 


379 


Guyfts,  gifts^  ial&nU, 
Guylde,  assess,  tax. 
Guylteynge,  gilding. 


Habergeon,  coat  of  mail, 
ll2ii\Q^happy^  G. 

Hailie,  see  haile, 

Halceld,  defeated^  C. 
Hallidome,  holy  church,  Qu. 
Hailie,  holy^  G. 

Hailie,  wholely. 

Halline,yo^,  G. 

Hamlettes,  manors^  G. 

Han,  hath,  Qu.  had, 
Hancelled,  cut  off^  destroyed,  G. 
Handesword,  hack-svjord, 
Hantoned,  accustomed,  Qu. 
Harrie,  harass,  Qu. 

Harried,  tost,  G. 

Harte  of  Greece,  a stag, 
Hatchedd,  covered  with  hatch- 
ments. 

Hatchments,  atchievements, 
coat  armour, 

Haveth,  have,  hath, 

Havyoure,  behavimr, 

Heafod,  head,  G. 

Heaven  were,  heavenward,  G. 
Heaulme,  helmet,  crown, 
Hecket,  wrapped,  closely  cov- 
ered, G. 

Heckled,  wrapped, 

Hedes,  regards,  attends  to, 
Heie,  they,  G. 

Heideygnes,  a country  dance, 
still  practised  in  the  North, 

G. 


Gye,  a guide,  G. 

Gyte,  see  gite, 

Gytelles,  mantels,  C. 

H. 

Hele,  help,  G. 

Hem,  a contraction  of  them,  G. 
Hendie  stroke,  hand  stroke, 
close  fghting, 

Hente,  grasp,  hold,  G. 
Heiitylle,  custom. 

Her,  ybr  their, 

Hereliaughtes,  heralds, 
Herehaughtrie,  heraldry,  C. 
Herselle,  herself, 

Heste,  require,  ash,  C. 

Heste,  a command, 
promised, 

Hight,  named,  called, 

Hiltrene,  hidden,  G. 

Hiltring,  Hiding,  G. 

Hoastrie,  inn,  or  a public  home, 

G, 

, Hoistes,  lifts  up, 

HoUie,  holy, 

Holtred,  hidden,  Qu. 
Hommageres,  servants,  G. 
Hommeur,  honor,  humor,  Qn. 
Honde  poyncte,  index  of  a 
clock,  marking  hour  or  min- 
ute, 

Hopelen,  hopelessness, 
Harrowe,  unseemly,  disagreea- 
ble, G. 

Hove,  lifted  up,  threw, 

, Houton,  hollow,  G. 

Hulstred,  hidden,  secret,  C. 
Hus,  house. 


B80 


GLOSSARY. 


Hus-carles,  house-servants, 
Hyger,  the  flowing  of  the  tide 
in  the  Severn  vras  ancient- 
ly called  the  Hygra, 

Hyghte,  named^  called, 

Hylle  fyre,  a beacon. 

Jade,  to  render  languid,  fa- 
tigue. 

Jape,  a short  surplice,  &c.  C. 
iemiQ,  journey. 

Jeste,  hoisted,  raised,  C. 

Ifrete,  devour,  destroy,  C. 
Ihantend,  accustomed,  C. 
Jintle,ybr  gentle. 

Immengde,  mixed,  mingled. 
Impestering,  annoying,  C. 
Impleasaunce,  unpleasantness, 
Inhild,  infuse,  C. 

1 

Ken,  see,  discover,  Tcnow,  C. 
Kenns,  knows,  C. 

Kenne,  know. 

Kepe,  to  take  care  of. 
Keppened,  careful. 

Kerveth,  cutteth,  destroyeth.QvL. 
Kiste,  coffin,  C. 

Kivercled,  the  hidden  or  seeret 
part,  C. 


Hylte,  hid,  secreted,  hide,  C. 
Hylted,  hidden,  0. 

Hyltren,  hidden, 

HyndQ,  peasant,  C. 
Hyndlettes,  servants. 


Invesiynge,  chathing, 

Jo\ce,  juice,  C. 

Joice,  juicy. 

J oustedd,  justed. 

Ishad,  broken,  C.,  shed, 
Ithink,  think. 

Jubb,  a bottle,  C. 

Iwreene,  disclosed, 

Iwimpled,  wrapped  up. 

Iwys,  certainly,  C. 

SynQdi,  joined. 
dynyngQ,  joining. 

Knite,  joined. 

Knopped,  fastened,  chained 
congealed,  G. 

Knowlache,  knowledge,  C. 
Knowlached,  known,  distin- 
guished. 

Knowlachynge,  knowledge,  C 
Kynde,  nature,  C. 

Kynge  coppes,  butter  flowers. 


Labrynge,  labouring,  agitated. 
Ladden,  lay, 

Lare,  leather. 

Laverde,  lord,  C. 

Lea,  field,  or  pasture. 

Lease,  lose. 

Leathal,  deadly,  Q. 


Lechemanne,  physician. 
Leckedst,  jnost  despicable. 
Lecture,  relate,  C. 
ItQCimn,  subject,  C. 
Lecturnyes,  lectures,  C. 
Leden,  decreasing,  C. 
Leeche,  physician. 


GLOSSARY. 


381 


Leege,  homage^  obeisance,  C. 
Leegefolcke,  subjects,  C. 
Leegefull,  lawful,  C. 
Leegeraen,  subjects, 

Leffed,  left. 

Lege,  law,  C. 

Leggen,  lesson,  alloy,  C. 
Leggende,  alloyed,  C. 
Lemanne,  mistress, 

Leme,  lighten  up, 

Lemed,  lighted,  glistened,  C. 
Lemes,  lights,  rays,  C. 

Lere,  leather, 

Lessel,  a bush,  or  hedge,  C. 
Lete,  still,  C. 

Lethalle,  deadly,  or  death- 
boding,  C. 

Lethlen,  still,  dead,  C. 

Letten,  churchyard,  C. 
Levyn-blasted,  struck  with 
lightning, 

Levyn-mylted,  lightning  melt- 
ed, Qu. 

Levyn-plome,  feathered  light- 
ning, 

Levynde,  blasted,  C. 

Levynne,  lightning,  C. 
Levynne  bronde,  flash  of 
lightning, 

Liefe,  choice, 

LifF,  leaf, 

Likand,  liking. 

Limed,  glassy,  C. 

Limitoure,  a licensed  begging 
friar, 

Limmed,  glassy  reflecting,  C. 


Lissedd,  bounded,  C. 

Lisseth,  boundeth,  C. 

List,  concern,  cause  to  care. 
Listeynge,  listening, 

Lithie,  humble,  C.,  soft,  gentle, 
Loaste,  loss, 

Locke,  luck,  good  fortune. 
Lockless,  luckless,  unfortunate. 
Lode,  load. 

Lode,  praise,  honor,  Qu. 
Logges,  cottages,  C. 

Longe  far-extended, 

lengthened, 

Lordynge,  standing  on  (heir 
hind  legs,  C. 

Lore,  learning,  C, 

Lote,  ht,  fortune, 

Loverde,  brd,  C. 

Loughe,  laugh,  C. 

Loustie,  lusty,  lustful, 
how,  flame  of  fire,  C. 

Lowes,  flames,  C. 
Lowings,^ames,  C. 

Lowynge,  flaming,  burning. 
Lurdanes,  Lo7d  Danes, 
Lycheynge,  liking,  C. 

Lyene,  lye. 

Lyghethe,  hdgeth. 

Lymmed,  polished,  C. 

Lynche,  bank,  G. 

Lynge,  stay,  linger. 

Lyoncelle,  young  lyon,  C. 
Lyped,  linked,  united.  Qu. 
Lysse,  sport,  or  play,  C. 
Lyssed,  bounded,  G. 
Lyvelyhode,  life,  C 


382 


GLOSSARY. 


Magystrie,  mastery^  victory, 
Marvelle,  loonder^  C. 

Mancas,  marks.  C.,  mancuses, 
Machyn,  a sleeve,  Fr. 
Mastersclayppe,  mastery,  vic- 
tory. 

Mate,  match, 

Maugrie,  mtmikstanding,  in 
spiU  of, 

Maynt,  many, 

Mede,  reward,  C. 

Mee,  meadow,  C. 

Meeded,  rewarded. 
Melancholych,  melancholy, 
Memuine,  memie-men,  attend- 
ants. 

Menged,  mixed,  the  many. 
Miniced,  menaced,  Qu. 
Mennys,  men. 

Mensuredd,  bounded  (yr  meas- 
ured, C. 

Menynge,  meaning. 

Mere,  lake,  C. 

Merke,  dark,  gloomy. 
Merke-plant,  nightshade,  C. 
Merker,  darker. 

Merkness,  darkness, 

Merkye,  dark, 

Meve,  move. 

Meynte,  many,  great  numbers 
C. 

Mical,  much,  mighty, 

Miesel,  myself, 

Miskynette,  a small  bagpipe,  C. 
Mist,  poor,  needy,  C. 

Mitches,  ruins,  C. 

Mitte,  a contraction  of  mighty, 

C. 


M. 

Mittee,  mighty,  C. 

Mockler,  more,  greater,  might- 
ier. 

Moke,  much,  C. 

Mokie,  black,  C. 

Mokynge,  mocking,  murmur- 
ing, Qu. 

Mole,  soft,  C. 

Mollock,  wet,  moist,  C.  [Mol- 
lock  is  properly  a substan- 
tive, and  is  used  by  old 
writers.  See  in  Chatterton’a 
usual  authorities,  Kersey 
and  Speght.] 

Molterynge,  mouldy,  mouldring. 
Mone,  moon. 

Moneynge,  lamenting,  moaning. 
Morie,  marshy. 

Morthe,  death,  murder, 
Morthynge,  murdering, 

Mose,  most, 

Moste,  must. 

'iHoie,  might,  C. 

Motte,  word,  or  motto, 
Mottring,  muttering,  murmur- 
ing. 

Myckle,  much,  C. 

Mychte,  mighty. 

Myghte  amein,  main  force, 
Myndbruche,^rm«ess  of  mind 
sense  of  honor.  Qu. 
Mynemenne,  miners. 
Mynsterr,  monastery,  C. 
Mynstrelle,  a minstrel  u Q 
musician,  C. 

Myrynge,  wallowing. 

Mystell,  miscall, 

Mysterk,  C. 


GLOSSARY. 


383 


Ne,  not^  C. 

Ne,  no,  or  none. 

Ne,  nigh^  or  nearly. 

Nedere,  adder ^ C. 

Neete,  night. 

Nesh,  weak^  tender^  C. 

Nete,  nothing^  C. 

Nete,  night. 

Oares,  wherries. 

Oathed,  hound  upon  oath. 
Obaie,  ahide^  G. 

Ofifrendes,  presents^  offerings^ 

C. 

Olyphauiites,  elephantes^  C. 
Onflemed,  undismayed^  C. 
Onknowlachynge,  ignorant^ 
unknowing^  C. 

Onlist,  boundless^  C. 

Onlyghte,  darken.  Qu. 
Ontylle,  untill. 

Onwordie,  unworthy, 

Paizde,  poised. 

Pall,  contraction  from  appall^ 
to  ff^fdy  C. 

Paramente,  robes  of  scarlet^  a 
princely  robe^  C. 

Parker,  park-keeper. 
Passente,  passing. 

Passent,  walking  leisurely^  C. 
Paves,  shields. 

Yavyes,  shields. 

Payrde,  compared, 

Peede,  pied^  C. 

Peene,  min. 


N. 

Nethe,  beneath. 

Nillynge,  unwilling^  C. 
Nome-depeyncted,  rebm^d 
shields^  ^c.,  C. 

Notte,  knx)t^  fasten. 

Notte  browne,  nut  broum, 
Noyance,  annoyance, 

O. 

Oppe,  up. 

Optics,  eyes, 

Orrests,  oversets^  C. 

Overest,  uppermost. 

Ounde,  wave, 

Oundynge,  undulating^  swell- 
ing. Qu. 

Ouphante,  ouphen^  elves. 

Ourt,  overt^  open.  Qu. 

Ouzle,  black  bird,  G. 

Owlett,  owl,  G. 

Owndes,  waves,  C 


Pencte,  painted,  G. 

Penne,  mountain. 

Pensmenne,  writers,  historians, 

G. 

Percase,  perchance,  G. 
Perdie,  for  a certainty, 

Pere,  pear, 

Pere,  appear,  G. 

Pereynge,  appearing,  peeping 
Perforce,  of  necessity. 

Perpled,  purple,  scattered, 
diffused.  Qu. 

Persante,  piercing 


384 


GLOSSARY. 


Pete,  hmt^  pluck.  Qu. 
Peynctedd,  painted^  0. 
Pheeres,  fellows^  equals^  C. 
Pheon,  in  heraldry^  the  barbed 
head  of  a dart. 

Picte,  C. 

Piercedd,  broken^  or  pierced 
through  with  darts^  C. 

Pittie  golphe,  hollow  of  the  pit. 
Pleasaunce,  pleasure^  blessing. 
Plies,  sounds^  C. 

Plonce,  plunge. 

Pole,  the  crown  of  the  head. 
Pouche,  purse. 

Poyntelle,  a pen.,  C. 

Pre,  to  prey. 


Pre,  prey. 

Preche,  preach,  exhort,  rec- 
ommend. 

Preestschyppe,  priesthood. 
Prevyd,  hardy,  valorous,  0. 
Proto-slene,  first  slain. 

Pro  we,  forehead. 

Prowes,  might,  power,  C. 
Puerilitie,  childhood. 

Pyghte,  pitched,  bent  down, 
settled,  C. 

Pyghtethe,^/McA;s,  or  tortures, 

C. 

Pynant,  languid,  insipid,  pi- 
ning,  meagre. 


Q. 

Quacedd,  vanquished,  C.  Queede,  the  evil  one,  the 

Quansed,  stilled,  quenched,  C.  devil. 

Quayntyssed,  curiously  de-  Quent,  quaint,  strange, 
vised,  C. 


R. 


Bampynge,  furious. 
Receivure,  receipt. 

Recendize,  for  recreandize, 
cowardice. 

Recer,  for  racer. 

Reddoure,  violence,  C. 

Rede,  wisdom,  C. 

Reded,  counselled,  C. 
Redeynge,  advice. 

Regrate,  esteem,  favour,  C. 
Reine,  run,  C. 

Rele,  wave,  C. 

Reles,  waves,  C. 

Rennomde,  honored,  renowned. 
Rennome,  honor,  glory,  C. 


Requium,  a service  used  over 
the  dead,  C. 

Responsed,  answered. 
Rewynde,  ruined. 

Reyne,  run,  0. 

Reynynge,  running,  C. 

Reytes,  water-fiags,  C. 
Ribaude,  rake,  lewd  person. 
Ribbande  geere,  ornaments  oj 
ribbands. 

Ribible,  violin,  C. 

Riese,  rise. 

Riped,  ripened. 

Rodded,  reddened,  C. 

Roddie,  red. 


GLOSSARY. 


385 


Koddio  levynne,  red  lightning, 

C. 

'RodiQ,  complexion,  C. 

Roder,  rider,  traveller. 
Rodeynge,  riding. 

Roghlynge,  rolling,  C. 
Rostlynge,  rustling. 

S. 

Sabalus,  the  devil,  C. 
Sabbataners,  hooted  soldiert. 
Sable,  black,  in  heraldry. 

Sable,  blacken,  C. 

Sable,  darkness. 

Sable,  black. 

Sai,  sagum,  military  cloak. 
Sanguen,  bloody. 

Sarim’s  plain,  Salisbury  plain. 
Sayld,  assailed. 

Scalle,  diall,  C. 

Scante,  scarce,  0. 

Scantillie,  scarcely,  sparingly, 

C. 

Scarpes,  scarfs,  C. 

Scarre,  mark. 

Scathe,  hurt,  damage,  0. 

Scathe,  scarce. 

Scaunce-layd,  uneven. 
Scauncing,  glancing,  or  looking 
obliquely. 

Seethe,  damage,  mischief,  C. 
Schaftes,  shafts,  ai'rows. 
Scheafted,  adorned  with  tur- 
rets. 

Sciile,  gather,  C. 

Scillye,  closely,  G. 

Scolles,  ^oles. 

Seek,  suck. 

Seeled,  closed,  C. 

VOL.  II. 


Ron,  hon'ia,  grim,  C. 
Rouncy,  cart-horse,  C. 
Eoyn,  ruin. 

Royner,  rulner. 

Rynde,  ruined. 

Ryne,  run. 


Seere,  search,  C. 

Selke,  silk. 

Selynesse,  happiness,  C. 
Semblamente,  appearance. 
Semblate,  appearance. 

Seme,  seed.,  C. 

Semecope,  a short  under-chke. 

G. 

Semlykeene,  countenance, 
beauty,  G. 

Semnilykeed,  countenance. 
Sendaument,  appearance. 
Sete,  seat. 

Shap,  fate,  C. 

Shap-senrged,  fate-scourged, 
G. 

Sheen,  to  shine. 

Sheene,  lustre,  shine. 

Shemres,  shine. 

Shemrynge,  glimmering,  G. 
Shente,  broke,  destroyed,  G. 
Shepen,  innocent.  Qu. 
Shepsterr,  shepherd,  G. 
Shettynge,  shooting. 

Shoone  pykes,  dioes  with  piked 
toes.  The  length  of  the  pikes 
was  restrained  to  two  inches 
by  3 Ewd.  4,  c.  6. 

Shotte,  shut. 

Shottcyng,  closing,  shutting. 


886 


GLOSSARY. 


Shrove,  shrouded, 

Siker,  sure, 

Skyne,  sky, 

Slea,  slay^  G. 

Sleath,  destroyeOi^  killethj  C. 
Sledde,  sledge^  hurdle, 

Slee,  slay, 

Sleene,  slain^  C. 

Sleeve,  clue  of  thread, 

Sletre,  slaughter, 

Sleyghted,  slighted, 

Sleynges,  slings, 

Slughornes,  a musical  instru- 
ment not  unlike  a hautboy^  a 
kind  of  clarion^  C. 

Smethe,  smoke,  C. 

Smething,  smoking,  C. 

Smore,  besmeared, 

Smothe,  steam,  or  vapours,  C. 
Snett,  bent,  snatched  up,  C. 
SnofFelle,  snuff  up, 

Sockeynge,  sucking. 

Solle,  soul, 

Sorfeeted,  surfeited, 

Sothe,  truth, 

Sothen,  sooth.  Qu. 

Soughle,  s(ml. 

Soughlys,  souls,  C. 

Souten,  ybr  sought, 

Sparre,  a vmden  bar,  or  in- 
chsure. 

Spedde,  reached,  attained.  Qu. 
Spencer,  dispenser,  0. 

Spere,  aUow,  Qu. 

Sphere,  spear, 

Splete,  cleaved,  ^lii. 
Sprenged,  sprinkled. 

Sprytes,  spirits,  souls,  0. 
Spyryng,  towering. 


Stale,  support,  prop. 

Stale,  fastening. 

Starks,  stalks. 

Steck,  stuck. 

Stedness,  firmness,  steadfast- 
ness, C. 

Steemde,  reeked,  steamed, 
Steemle,  steaming. 

Steeres,  stairs. 

Stent,  stained,  C. 

Steynced,  alloyed,  or  stained. 
Qu. 

Steyne,  stain,  blot,  disgrace. 
Stoke,  stuck. 

Storthe,  death. 

Storven,  dead,  C. 

Storven,  for  strove.  Qu. 
Stowe,  place,  city. 

Straughte,  stretched,  0. 

Stre,  straw.  ^ 

Stree,  strew. 

Stret,  stretch,  C. 

Strev,  strive. 

Strlnge,  strong,  C. 

Stynts,  stops. 

Substant,  substantial. 
SufFycyll,  sufficient. 
Super-hallie,  over-righteous,  C. 
Surcote,  a chke  or  mantel  which 
hid  all  the  other  dress,  C. 
Suster,  sister. 

Swanges,  wave  to  and  fro. 
Swarthe,  spirit,  ghost. 
Swarthless,  dead,  expired. 
Swarthy nge,  expiring. 
Sweft-kervd,  short  liv'd,  C. 
Sweltrle,  sultry,  0. 
Swolterynge,  ovei^helming. 
Qu. 


GLOSSARY. 


3b. 


Swolynge,  sweUmg. 

Swote,  sweety  C. 

Swotelie,  sweetly^  C. 

Swotie,  sweety  C. 

Swythe,  quickly^  C. 

Takells,  arrows^  C. 

Talbots,  a ^ecies  of  dogs, 
Teinpest-chaft,  tempest-beaten^ 

C. 

Tende,  attend^  or  wait,  C. 
Tene,  sorrow, 

Tentyflie,  carefully,  C. 
Thight,  consolidated,  closed. 
Thilk,  that,  or  such. 
Thoughtenne,  thought. 
Thraslarke,  thrushes. 

Throstle,  thrush. 

Thyk,  such,  C. 

Val,  helm,  C. 

Vengouslie,  revengefully, 
Ugsomme,  terrible,  C. 
Ugsomness,  terror,  C. 

Villeyn,  vassal,  servant. 
Unburled,  unarmed,  C. 
Uncouthe,  unknown,  C. 
Undevyse,  explain, 
\}vX\2iXt,unf or  giving,  C. 

Walsome,  loathsome. 
tVanhope,  despair,  C. 
Wastle-cake,  cake  of  white 
bread, 

Waylde,  choice,  selected. 
Waylynge,  decreasing,  C. 
Whestlyng,  whistling. 


Swythen,  quickly,  C. 
Swythyn,  quickly,  C. 

Syke,  such,  so,  G. 

Sy  the,  since. 

Sythence,  since  then. 

T. 

Tore,  t07'ch,  C. 

Tourneie,  toumamml,  0. 
Trechit,  treget,  deceit, 

Trone,  throne,  C. 

Trothe,  truth,  C. 

Troulie,  true,  truly, 

Twaie,  two. 

Twayne,  two,  C. 

Twighte,  plucked,  puUed,  C, 
Twytte,  pluck,  or  pull,  G. 
Tynge,  tongue, 

Tytend,  tightened,  fastened. 

V U. 

Unlydgefulle,  rebellious, 
Unplaite,  explain,  G.  [ To  un- 
plaite.  Kersey  and  Bailey. 
Unpliten,  make  plain, 
Speght.] 

Unwote,  unknown. 

Upryne,  raise  up. 

Vyed,  viewed, 

W. 

Woden  blue,  dyed  blue  with 
woad. 

Woe-be-mentynge,  woe-be~ 
wailing. 

Wychencref,  witchcraft. 
Wysche,  xoidi. 


3SS 


GLOSSARY. 


Yan,  than. 

Taped,  laughable^  0. 
Yatte,  that, 

Ybereynge,  bearing, 
Yborne,  son, 

Ybrende,  biMrn. 

Ycorne,  engraved^  carved, 
Ycorvenn,  to  mouldy  C. 

deyd,  dyed, 

Ydronks,  drinks, 

Yer,  your^  their, 

Yeyre,  their ^ 0. 

Yie,  thy. 


Y. 

Ygrove,  graven^  or  formed, 
Yinder,  yonder, 

Yis,  this, 

Ylachd,  enchsed^  shut  up, 
Ynhyme,  inter ^ C. 

Ynutyle,  useless, 

Yreaden,  made  ready, 
Yreerde,  reared^  raised, 
Yspende,  consider ^ C. 
Ystorven,  d^ady  C. 

Ytorn,  torn, 

Ytsel,  itself. 


Z. 

Zabalus,  the  devil. 


n 


to 


{> 


' -> 

m. 


- • |C  ' 


